Note: If you haven’t had a chance to read my guest post on Opal’s lovely blog, here’s the link.
It’s difficult to write a year review
post, because honestly, everything’s pretty much a blur for me. People ask me
how 2015 has been, and all I can think is, I wrote a lot, I read a lot, I aged,
end of story. Yeah, I processed things, and I’d like to believe my mind grew.
I’d like to think I improved at the activities I love. Maybe I got worse.
As always, I added more books to my
personal library and more experiences to my mental records. I moved to a
different state and started a new life. Fortunately, I made a lot of friends in
the blogosphere, and my blog grew, but I still get nervous about posting. I’m
pretty sure I will always get nervous about posting. And I will always have
that tendency to question the quality of my writing.
This year I’ve started to learn more about
caring for other people, about opening up, about talking. I've learned that
sometimes people actually want to read what I have to say, although that still
seems like a crazy notion.
In a strange and wonderful plot twist, I
write full time now. No, I am not published yet—I still haven’t seen a penny
for any of my words. But my sister is providing for all my needs because she
says that’s her investment in my writing career, that I can pay her back when
I’m a crazy rich New York Times Bestselling author. Emphasis on the when. She
has more true confidence in my abilities than I do.
In other news, New Year’s Day is my
birthday. I confess, I always feel weird about having birthdays. Are they optional?
It’s not that I dislike the reminder that I am getting older, and it’s not that
I’m worried I’m too young. I just don’t like age labels. I’ve never felt like I
belonged to my age, and the number tag feels dishonest. Maybe there is a
difference between the number of years lived and the actual age of a person. Birthdays
jar me because they remind me I am nowhere near as old as I think. They remind me
that I haven’t yet lived even a third of the average American life expectancy.
Is it possible to grow old twice? I feel old. Not spectacularly mature, just remarkably
ancient. I don’t remember what it’s like to feel young.
I had goals for this year. Some I met, and
others I didn’t. Life’s like that. But this was not a bad year, and I am happy
to have lived it, even though it was far too short. Years are short. I enter one,
I blink, and it’s gone. Another one comes in its place, only to hurry off into
the sunset. Eventually, I’ll wake up bewildered, wondering when I turned eighty
and how on earth that number snuck up on me. You wait and see. It just might
happen to you as well.
I have goals for 2016. Big goals. Goals that
will keep me busier than ever. But busyness is satisfying because I don’t feel the
weight of time so much when my mind is active. I want to share more of myself with
you, posts like this one and this one and this one. I want
to read more and write more and think more. I want to get published (but I bet
you already knew that). Most importantly, in whatever small way I can, I want
to make 2016 a brighter year for all of you because you made 2015 bright for me.
Happy New Year!
Well, that’s it, little coffee beans. What
are your goals for 2016? Feel free to guess how old I’m turning. Also, if you
have any suggestions on how you think I could make this blog more interesting
in the coming year, please let me know. I love hearing back from all of you.
