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I love beginnings. I exist for possibility; the amazing spark that puts a gleam in your eye before the reality of the situation sets in.

If my entire life could be beginnings, I can't even tell you how blessed I would feel. I get butterflies, near-nausea inducing butterflies. I sit on my couch, indian-style (or criss-cross-applesauce as my daughter calls it) with a notebook and pen, mapping out my future and all the positives yet to come. I daydream while sipping my coffee. I read books and find myself in them. The entire world exists for me and me alone... and I feel no self-consciousness admitting that.

I'm often accused of truly thinking the world revolves around me. People misunderstand me on a regular basis - I sometimes come off as pushy, as self-centered, as someone who doesn't take no for an answer. That may be true, in some cases, but often I'm able to step back and look at the whole picture before acting. I am a selfish creature or, at least, I can be. But I don't act based wholly on what I want and forsake other people's emotions. I always take everyone else into account and often put them ahead of me.

But beginnings are lovely. They're just there; they care for everyone equally and the eve of possibility shines just as brightly on all involved.

And I feel like I'm shining today.