What have I really taken away from this past year? From this past semester?

I found myself questioning the seemingly scorched questions, overdone and cliché as they were, as I sat quietly amid a bustling group of New York City-goers. I was sipping on a Diet Coke with lime, a clear indication of my age, in the lobby of a posh Upper East Side hotel; a cool end-of-December wind was snaking itself through the revolving doors while I typed away on my MacBook near the bar.

Have you seen all the Godfathers, or just the first one?

People are so hard to read.

Seattle’s kind of a neat city. I used to call Seattle my San Francisco.

I can’t tell how old he is; he has one of those baby faces. He honestly looks like he’s anywhere between four to seven years old, but I mean, the man’s been married for 12 years.

Bits and pieces of lost conversations wafted through the air; the lobby was sprinkled with cocktail dresses and sparked with conversation.

A dapper, older-looking gentleman with a snazzy felt fedora and an intelligent-looking wife shuffled passed me. I sat typing from an orange corduroy chair as they walked arm-in-arm, pacing in unison. They had a sort of timeless look to them. It was the type of timeless that made me question whether I’d find a husband of my own some day, and whether I’d roam the streets of New York City with him, as well..

The setting was tragically glamorous for a night of ordinary reflection.

Within the year, I had completed my first year of college and transitioned into the beginning of a second. During those 12 months, I had declared three different majors, a supplementary minor, and questioned the addition of a business cognate. Needless to say, my mind had been in more than just a few places whiles studying in Blacksburg this year.

However, despite my indecisiveness, I made the mental decision to stick with a decision -- the right decision.

I had visited New York City this past spring and written an inspired trilogy of fictional short stories centered around Sinatra. I convinced anyone I could to read my pieces; I wanted feedback -- more so, I wanted a tangible reaffirmation that I was pursuing something worthwhile.

After receiving positive feedback from professors, peers and random passersby, I chose a concrete major, two majors, actually, and I clung to them: multimedia journalism and creative writing. I embraced my enthusiasm for writing, and I rolled with it, pursuing any and all opportunities that came my way.

It was hard, and required a lot of work, but when can anyone honestly say that following her dream didn’t require hard work? The exhausting hours and seemingly endless nights occurred more often than expected.

In essence, writing had taken a tight hold of my hand, claiming a little piece of my life with it. Some may view that as an absurdity. However, those endless nights of articles, papers, poems and sort stories gave me the extra push I needed to make great strides in my field; I was progressing.

I took on staff writing positions at two independent publications, one in print and the other online. I applied to several sparkling internships, many of which I was unqualified for, obtaining offers from two separate companies for the coming spring and summer. In fewer words -- I decided to follow my dreams this year, and it started to pay off.

Not a bad piece of my life to reflect on, especially whilst writing amid the nightlife of New York City. Much like the intelligent looking couple who had passed by me earlier, I felt drawn to experience a life labeled as ‘timeless.’ Through reflection, I had been prompted to ponder the possibilities of my future: an apartment in the city, a job at the Times, a lifestyle that didn’t call for a personal vehicle.

I began to grow jittery, excited. Truthfully, in part it was probably from the caffeine in my Diet Coke. Regardless, I had come to realize, through reminiscing on my past year’s progressions, that I still had things to progress towards. And that excited me.

Because I still had things to be excited for: new homes, not houses; new lifestyles, not jobs; new favorite drinks, not Diet Coke (though I must say, I believe it’s become an identifiable character trait of mine within these last few years).

Through positive reflection I was able to view the idea of my future as a positive concept, lofty may it be, it was positive. Again, I was reaffirmed to set goals for myself – not just in writing, but in all aspects of my life.

So as this article and this year come to a close, let me say this: I encourage you all to take a night to reflect. Whether it’s in your living room at home, your dream city of New York, or even a bathroom floor (hey, no judgment projected) -- take a night to reflect.

You owe it to yourself. Remember what it is you’re still passionate about; acknowledge the progressions you’ve made in the past year, and never overlook your ability to explore the endless possibilities ahead of you.

One day you may be a part of a dapper couple striding contently, happily and classily through an Upper East Side hotel. A week before Christmas, you'll foster anything but a worry in the world, and posses plenty of time to reflect back on your lives together.