Every New Year’s Eve, I write a letter to myself. “Dear Kelly,” I begin. Then I try to think of something that one year in the future, will be meaningful. I describe my life as I see it. Am I kind? Do I make good decisions? I aim for objectivity, almost to the point of harshness: Do I waste my days? Will anyone be happy to see me die?I write goals: Do a nice triple pirouette or publish a poem, maybe, although I hope I didn’t propose those last year.