I wish you a brave new year

It's a little after 8:30 on New Year's Eve, and I've been in my nightgown for over an hour already. I'm ending this year much as I began it, glad to see the waning year go. The only good thing I can say about 2009 is that it was better than 2008. The last ten years have been the roughest of my life. Every one of these double zero years has been marked personally by death, illness and loss, globally by terrorism, war, natural disaster and economic crisis. Good riddance to this hurtful millennial decade.

Tonight, though I'm a wee bit sad and bitter, I'm not drowning. Underneath that negativity, there's a little hope, a tiny, battered scrap of faith, and a whisper of belief of myself. That's more than I've had in a long time, and I'm grateful. So, tomorrow I'll hang a new and beautiful calendar -- twelve months of Alphonse Mucha, a Christmas gift from the womanchild. I'll double check the new entries written in my date book. I'll start a new page in my journal. And if I'm smart, I'll make time to be still and quiet, listen for that wiser voice that guides me sometimes, and gently hold my hope as the treasure it is.

I gave up New Year's resolutions a long time ago because they became a tool for later self-flagellation. I've had enough of that stupid, time wasting, self-defeating nonsense. It can rest with this decade. Hope is good enough. So are wishes. We have a fresh new year to make them come true.