Dear Ma, Today is New Year's Day. The Seattle sky is that peculiar shade of winter grey, so different from Louisiana's warm haze, as I sit here on the 38th floor watching the Space Needle pierce through morning fog. I'm 31 now, and lately I've been feeling more lost than ever. They say it's the age when you should have it all figured out, but here I am, still searching. That's why I've made a resolution.