Twenty-Twelve is nearly spent, so I am on my knees stuffing it into a cardboard box, wrapping, and tying a red bow around it. I am about to re-gift this temporal shadow of a year to a spatial multiverse, to make room for the new gift of Twenty-Thirteen, which, name-wise, isn’t very hot. (But it is here. It’s under the Christmas tree. No idea what the box contains. I have tried to shake it this way and that, in the manner of excited kids who couldn’t wait for Christmas morning! When I peel the wrappers away, I am guessing it will be in my increasingly slow and tentative way.)
This is how I am considering disposing of this year that found me, in my mind, a lot better in November than I was in January. The gift of Twenty-Twelve was surprising for its novelty. But since I am about to abandon it to nothingness, I will allow myself one last wistful look at Twenty-Twelve and mine the year for standouts:
1. I am diving into a sea of books again. Recovering Adorno, salvaging Zamyatin. There is more time now for reading than when I was moored in an inhospitable island where nobody manages to read.
2. I am re-channeling the maternal goddess. She surfaced from the deep early this year and has widened her influential reach. With a crown of bay leaves and a staff of two, there is nothing like her home-cooked adobo.
3. I am re-friending the writerly Muse. A check was cashed. Who knows, Freshly Pressed might be next. ^_^
4. I am discovering my speakerly mojo. I dug up enough confidence lying dormant somewhere and polished it and showed it before a crowd of Conference goers one day in September. For somebody who makes an achievement of stage fright, speaking is incomparable in its ordinariness.
5. I am re-imposing discipline. In eating. Exercising. Teaching. Loving.
6. I am recovering the faith. Thanking God and people more often. Forgiving more easily. Hurting less.