Now, if only I could write more. 2009 looms in the not so distant horizon and its going to be quite a challenge to equal my 2008 writerly accomplishments, but, we'll see. If I do fail, at least it will not be because I did not try, right?
This year has proven to be a year of growing up for me. Now, more than ever, I'm forced to accept that I'm not quite the end product, but instead, I'm simply a work in progress. Perhaps I'll always be a work in progress. In the past, I had believed that you could have one perfect state - just like characters in a book, who eventually reach a point where, flawed or not, they no longer feel the urge to change - but of course, the one perfect state is impossible unless you're like Buddha or something.
And that's fine.
It doesn't bother me as much now that I make mistakes; nor does it behoove me to admit and acknowledge them. Instead, I strive to not repeat the errors in my past and move on. I don't dwell; neither do I whine (too) much. I've even learned how to talk (with less sarcasm) about what bothers me, even when the pain is raw. But most importantly, I know, with irrevocable certainty that someone is more important than me in the bigger schema of things. My son, though not the center of my universe, definitely occupies several galaxies that before his existence, I had not known were voids of emptiness.
On to 2009!