And I say yes once more.

Many birthdays find you with the phrase "Here we are again." Sometimes the tone is contemplative, sometimes resentful, but this year it is all together content. Noting the reflection of another year past, a summary of doings and a vast plane of emotional markers. I woke up in the darkness and pushed out into a cold, but wonderous morning of frost and mountain sunrises, beautiful and strong. I enjoyed the company of friends and phone calls from the people I love. And upon arriving home, Alfred and I took a ride into the turning light, to bring full circle the meaning of the day. I am thankful, and happy.

If it were now, I would say yes.

I am sitting upright in bed, hair pulled back somewhat untidily and glasses on, contemplating the creation of a bowl of oatmeal with bananas and cherries and walnuts. Alfred has lain himself across my knees, looking up at me questioningly, as if to ask whether his heavy body is drawing my hand's attention to the top of his head. The house is quiet and still; a distinct absence is apparent. Therefore, I must fill it. Fill the entire house, with movement, and the wafting scent of fresh food, and NPR voices, and new art. My hands must keep going while my eyes remain open. In this manner, I can ensure that I will continue to enjoy myself, though not all together unaware of the hole I am dancing around. And still, this happiness revs me like an engine, it is sure, and stable, and I know it will not run out. So, I put my faith in the unconscious workings of my brain and limbs to drive me forward, to make anew. It is another day.

New Year.

So, it is a new year.

I've always wondered whether my last year before turning 30 would play out like a 90s sitcom, lead character fretting about accomplishing everything on her "list" before the crows feet set in as the clock strikes midnight. Those shows always had the odd foreboding that once one officially moved into another decade of life, doors of opportunity would close and the "list" would be doomed to gather dust in the back of the closet. I've never really felt the same push. In fact, my thinking has been positively geared to the thirtysomething decade since sometime around my last birthday, since, honestly, how much does a 28-year-old have in common with a 21-year-old?

though i do have what i would call "urges to action."

This year, rather than set resolutions, I feel like just honoring myself and my instincts in general. Exploring things that interest and intrigue me, without giving them a timeline. And to give in less to our consumer culture which dictates what we should and shouldn't do, like and shouldn't like according to what the market looks like that season.

Oh, the drama.