I feel obliged to write to you, to round out this year with a summation of what I have learned, but I have rugs to vacuum and dishes to wash. I have towels to hang, bags of miscellany to sort through, and a garden I have neglected. To write to you as an exercise in self-reflection feels forced, and false, and gratuitous.
When I wrote to you last year, it was an acknowledgement of my fallibility. The “Year of Ass-Kicking” is one I am happy to leave behind. It was a formative year for sure, but not one I care to dwell on further. That is why there will be no summation today. There will be no lessons learned, or fantasies explored. I am going to clean my house and prepare it for the year to come, dust away the memories that lurk in its corners, open the windows to let in cold winter light wash over the walls, and make it new.