New Years Day...

I’ve always loved New Years Day. The untapped possibilities of a new year fill me with the energy to fulfill my goals. However, without committing to taking the steps required to take the goals to fruition, they’re nothing more than empty dreams—sage advice my father gave me a decade ago along with a small black notebook.

“Begin the year by writing everything you aspire to achieve during the three hundred and sixty-five days before you. Include everything from the mundane to the magnificent, dare to dream big, allow your imagination to soar, and then” he added lovingly “in explicit detail chart the course of the work you need to do to achieve each goal as you would when planning a journey.”

And now, in the early morning hours of January first, I sit cozily on the sofa in my tiny Lower East Side apartment, with a steaming cup of coffee, my favorite pen in hand, and this years new small black notebook, I’m ready to begin navigating my way toward my goals coming true. Deep in thought, my fingers flip through the blank delicate Moleskin pages when on a page toward the center of the book, a handwritten scribble catches my eye. The book is new. The words aren’t mine. Perhaps it’s an advertisement, or maybe a bored kid playing a prank. I give more attention to the simple handwritten message that states, “When you see this call,” a phone number followed.

I humph and say aloud to no one, “Who’d be foolish enough to call a strange number?” Pushing the message from my thoughts, I return to the task at hand. A plethora of plans swirl about my head, along with my father’s words, “Add them all, mundane to magnificent,” and so I do. Quit my job, complete my Master’s degree in less than two years, treat my parents to a trip in return for the sacrifices, treat myself to new boots, the list goes on.

Hours later, despite my better judgment, curiosity about the mysterious note niggles at my brain, I’ve never been a risk-taker, so I dare not call. Instead, I call my parents to wish them a Happy New Year. After sharing pleasantries, I mention the note to my father to see what he thinks.

“You’re probably right,” he agrees. “An advertising gimmick or a mischievous kid.” He hears the cautious curiosity in my voice, and as if reading my mind, he adds. “Don’t call from your phone; instead, next time you visit, use our land-line. Why we have it, I’ll never know; no one uses_.”

I cut off his sentence. “Can I come over in like an hour?” “Of course, sweetheart,” he responds cheerfully. “You know you’re always welcome.”.

An hour and ten minutes later, I’m sitting with my parents in their living room. A spread of delicious food for an impromptu late lunch that my mom has put together awaits us in the dining room. They grin as I tentatively tap the numbers on the outdated device.

“Hello?” A man answers on the second ring; I’m momentarily startled.

“Hi, ah...” I clear my throat feeling foolish to have called, “I’m sorry to bother you, I’m sure this is some sort of mistake, but I purchased a black notebook_.”

The man interrupts me before I can continue, “Ah, you found my message” I can hear him smile.

“Look,” I say indignantly, “if this is some sort of a scam or sales gimmick, I am not interested!” As I’m about to hang up, he speaks again, and this time the strangers' tone is serious and sad.

“My dear, I assure you it’s neither of you’ll please let me explain.” I wait silently as he continues. “You see, I’m a wealthy old man, and I’ve been blessed to amass a fortune in my lifetime but not blessed with anyone to leave it to. I have no family, and the few friends I have left, are financially set, so I’ve chosen to give it away to strangers through random surprises. Perhaps a bit eccentric, but it brings me happiness. To that end, I want to give you twenty thousand dollars, no strings attached. Consider it an inheritance from an anonymous benefactor.”.

For the first time in my twenty-two years, I’m rendered speechless. This can’t be real! Seeing my jaw go slack and the color drain from my face, my father, grabs the phone from my hand. I glance at my mother. Her eyes are wide, wondering what I’ve been told. Dad bellows into the receiver, “Whoever you are, whatever you’ve told my daughter, I want an explanation now, or I will have this call traced.”. The man repeats to my father everything he’s said to me. My father continues the conversation with the same shocked look I imagine is on my face. “How do we know you’re legitimate and that she’s not walking into some trap? How will she access these funds she’s supposedly inheriting from you? The older man explains to dad that I am to contact his lawyer, who’ll give me a cashier's check. He doesn’t need to know anything about me, not even my name, and he prefers the same anonymity. He agrees to dad’s request to have our family lawyer contact his legal counsel. Dad jots a name and phone number on a scrap of paper and ends the call.

We fill Mom in on what’s transpired over the last five minutes as dad does a Google search of the stranger's lawyer.

“So what do you think? Is this guy legit?” I ask. My nervousness is now replaced with cautious happiness about what this serendipitous windfall could mean for my life... If it’s for real.

Dad turns his laptop to face us. His attorney is at least legit, a partner in one of New York’s most prestigious law firms. “I don’t know, sweetie,” Dad says with a smile, “but stranger things have happened. If you want, I’ll call Todd Murphy. He’s been handling all our legal stuff forever. If anyone can get to the bottom of this, I trust he can.”. I nod in agreement.

A week has passed. I go on with life, trying not to think about the possibility that I might soon have twenty thousand dollars in my bank account joining my current paltry nest-egg of two hundred dollars, but as I jot my daily entry into the little black book, it’s all I can think of. I imagine how with due diligence on my part — money does not replace putting in the effort — I could fulfill most of my goals. I could work part-time at the job I despise, take more classes and, finish my Masters in six months instead of two years, then pursue my real career. I could send my parents on the trip to Paris they’ve been dreaming about and saving for since I was a child. I’ll purchase the art supplies I crave and fulfill yet another goal, creating the art I love. I grin as I imagine treating myself to the soft leather boots that, until now, I could only imagine owning someday.

It’s just after lunch on a Monday, ten days after finding the message, when my phone rings. My heart skips a beat when dad’s lawyer says hello.

“Well, Nadine,” he says, getting right to the point, “I’ve dotted every I and crossed every T, and the message you found is indeed legitimate and completely legal.”.

All I can do is scream, “Oh my God.” Mr. Murphy laughs at my unabashed excitement before he continues.

“The benefactor would prefer to remain anonymous, I believe it’s safe to grant him that wish, and he respects your anonymity as well.”. I agree. “With your permission, I can pick the check up for you this afternoon. Once you cash it, the money is yours, all twenty thousand dollars.”.

I’m overwhelmed but remember to ask Mr. Murphy how much I owe him for all he’s done on my behalf. I can tell by his voice he’s grinning when he responds, “I was happy to help out for the cost of the martini and steak dinner your dad promised me, so give your dad fifty bucks, and we’re even, and enjoy your good fortune.”

Every day for the past two weeks, I check my bank account, still not believing the balance. Yesterday was my last full day of work, and I begin my additional classes in a month. My parents tried to talk me out of treating them, and finally, in grateful resignation, insisted I join them on their trip of a lifetime. Our flight is in three days. With deep gratitude, I’ve made an anonymous donation to my favorite charity that supports battered women. It seems fitting I take no credit in honor of the elderly man who made this all possible. Entering the art supply store, list in hand, I smile, admiring my gorgeous new leather boots, in my reflection in the window. In another stroke of luck, the boots were half off the day I went shopping.

Dad’s giving me investment advice for the remainder of my unexpected fortune, which despite my expenses, is enough to start building security for my future. I have a new list of goals and the steps I need to achieve them that I add to each day. This money hasn’t deterred me from working hard and seeing my dreams to fruition — in fact, quite the opposite. I now believe anything is possible.

The “what if’s” and chance happenstance will be with me until my last breath. What if, when I was twelve, my dad hadn’t begun the New Year’s Day tradition that started this journey? What if I hadn’t purchased that particular small black notebook — the one I’ll cherish long after this year is over and a new one takes its place? What if I’d ignored the scribbled message and not taken a risk? What if I hadn’t dared to dream big about everything from the mundane to the magnificent?