I just did a little digging, and realized that I started this blog on January 1st, 2008. In some ways, it was started long before that, because I had another blog for a few years over on MovableType, and then switched to here. But still, here for three years. That’s a long time, in blog land or anywhere else. And every year, I’ve set some kind of goals (writing and otherwise) and every year, I’ve met some of those goals, failed at others and completely changed my mind about even more. I didn’t take the time to read through the old posts, but I know the highlights by heart, for the most part: writing, traveling, living, loving. Some things I achieved that I never expected nor wanted (living through Lyme Disease, breaking my ankle) and other things that were life-long fuzzy dreams that I never dared hope to accomplish (a novel accepted, editing an anthology, winning awards). And then the losses, of course, many of them personal. Deaths, relationships, family, friends. The losses that we all begin to accumulate as we age and progress through this life thing. And then odd things too — I never thought I’d be back in Portland, for starters. Or teaching here again. Or other things.
Three years of a life — it’s a small part of our lives, and yet look at all the things one can lose and gain, can find and replace, the many ways we can grown and change and wither and blossom. Cycles. Seasons. Retreat and advance. We are flowers, yes. But also waves and worlds. Moving on rhythms that are beyond us, and yet part of us.
What does this all mean for me? Ha. I wish I knew. It means I’m thinking of “next year” and “goals” in a very esoteric sense, that I’m dreaming big and starting small, that I know what I want for this coming year, but am unsure how to get it. Which is pretty common. Will I list my goals for this year? I might. I tend to do well with goals when the whole world is watching (or at least I can convince myself that it is, and that drives me to work harder!) or perhaps I will write them privately, on the small pieces of sinew in my heart, so that I can hear them echo in my ears with every beat of my heart.
Kiss kiss bang bang, s.