I won't miss 2018 one bit. The year brought with it the deaths of family members, the deaths of friends, the deaths of friendships, job changes, creative frustrations, empty nest syndrome, family health concerns, personal health concerns (including the Oumuamua-sized specimen above, which I believe formed right around January first of last year, and finally left my personal orbit in hideous fashion mid-September). These and hundreds of other setbacks, irritations (the news, ugh), and defeats all conspired to make 2018 a more benighted and harrowing year than most in recent memory.. Good riddance.
Of course it wasn't all bad, it never is, and I've long ago shaken off the self-defeating pessimism that clouded most of my young adulthood. Since launching the monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey from my body, I've been understandably less anxious and am running regularly again, writing more than I have in months, and even blogging as this post proves. I love the movie, Kim and I went to Europe twice, I've reconnected with a few friends I'd hadn't seen in years, and Aural History went up in the kindle store. Those were all good things, and I will continue to dwell upon those and the thousands of little kindnesses and positive moments until they swell to a size where, if they don't fully eclipse all of the dreck, they will at least obscure it.
I adopted New Year's Eve as a personal high holy day many years ago, and--artificial construct or not--I engage fully in the act of conscious reflection and projection. I feel much stronger going into 2019 than I did 2018 and I'm looking forward to the challenges, the struggles, and whatever victories my family, friends, and myself can earn in the coming year.
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