Every new year, I take my calendar (still a paper one I buy for a few dollars at the local dollar store) and carefully mark down all the important dates for the year ahead. The usual suspects—birthdays, anniversaries, visitors, trips, appointments, and all sorts of things I absolutely do not trust my memory to remember on its own.

I do this partly so I won’t be surprised when someone shows up at my door and I have to pretend I totally knew they were coming. But mostly, I do it so I can anticipate what’s ahead.

Here are a few things I’m anticipating this year.

Our big vacation is a week-long cruise to the Bahamas—smack dab in the middle of winter. Whoo hoo! I imagine sunshine, luxurious accommodations, and endless delicious food. I have been on cruises before, but it’s amazing how my brain politely forgets my bouts of seasickness, the lack of privacy, and that occasional longing for solid ground. Nope. None of that exists in my mind. I only anticipate the good. Ahhh…anticipation.

Then there are the life-altering events. My husband is retiring this year, and I am genuinely thrilled for him. I enthusiastically tell him how wonderful retirement will be—no alarm clock, no bosses, no schedules except your own. You get to do what you want for a change! What joy!

What I don’t bring up—at least not during these cheerful conversations—are the less sparkly parts: learning to live on a fixed income, reinventing who you are, and figuring out why you should get out of bed in the morning when no one actually requires you to. But shhh…those thoughts get gently pushed aside. I’m choosing joyful anticipation.

Even the mundane things get the anticipation treatment—like planning my garden. I map out my vegetable beds, decide which flowers to put in my planters (well, actually Costco decides that, since I buy whatever is on sale), and carefully plan my planting schedule. It’s satisfying and hopeful.

Strangely, my memory completely erases the reality of pulling weeds that refuse to let go, dragging hoses all over the yard, and wrestling tomato plants that grow like Jack’s beanstalk. Those memories disappear entirely. All that’s left is hope…and anticipation.

So here’s to looking ahead with hope, excitement, and just a touch of denial. Sometimes, anticipation is what keeps us moving forward—right up until the weeds appear and the boat starts rocking.

For now, I’ll keep marking my calendar, dreaming big, and conveniently forgetting a few details. Because anticipation makes life sweeter—and if I’m wrong, well…that’s what next year’s calendar is for.

-Peni