Year's End

For most people, this is a time of remembrance - the year just past, perhaps even the life that has passed to now. New Year's Eve will bring the sentiment (Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind? ...) and the weepy friends and couples out of the woodwork. New Year's Day we will look to the year ahead - we'll watch Bowl games and make resolutions to change our behavior from here on out (i.e. no more New Year's Eve pitchers of kindness to hang us over). It's a great holiday, and an important one, because we need those lines of demarcation in our timelines.

I hate it. For the last twenty years, New Year's Day has meant only two things to me: taxes and regrets.

It makes sense (in my world) that one follows the other like summer follows spring. I take care of all things money, and that means I've already bought my new calendars, transferred important dates and phone numbers, filled in my schedule as I know it, and (the money part) totalled the cash-only work from 2008. In addition, I've already begun to set up my files and sort receipts. (Don't say it - I tried, really tried to divvy it up, more than once, but organization is not not not my natural state, and I refuse to hurt my head six times a year instead of just one.) Thursday I will begin the day by heading to the car to replace my mileage log.

This year, I have the added joy of tallying assets and obligations, come up with a dollar number for this quest (so far), which won't be pretty - investments and housing values are looking up to what all of us thought would be the bottom of this well. Add in the facts that a) I have no idea what 2009 will bring to me in income, b) I don't drink anymore and c) I made the mistake of looking at plans for this year from last year, and I have all the ingredients for the most unfun holiday of all.

Enter regret.

2008 was about cleaning up and paring down, about laying the foundation for future successes, but it feels a lot like failure today. I didn't gut my house and achieve all the renovations I'd envisioned. I didn't unearth a Van Gogh or Morris chair, or win the lotto. I didn't even get us clear from debt or have a single real adventure.

I didn't ... I didn't ... I didn't ...

Now, I know that the difference between the successful and the Loser-with-a-capital-L is not always obvious from the middle of the learning curve. I know that life can either be an excuse or a lesson, but not both. I know that while I can't stop stocks from falling or people from screwing up (or screwing us), I can adjust my attitude and somehow make lemon chiffon pie out of the sour and the bitter. I know all this in my heart. But when I'm inside the moment (or inside memories of the moment) it feels like hell; I want to rend and tear, blame and howl, find a target and burst into tears until it flames to cinders - right now.

I didn't ... I didn't ... I didn't ...

I must make myself remember that time passes; with or without anyone's permission, it marches on toward its own horizon. 2008 becomes 2009, then 2010, 2011, 2012 ... faster and faster it runs, every year. Each of these brings its own sharp turns and potholes, storms and disappointments, and some of them will beat us to a bloody pulp. But I know that the only way to lose is if we fail to learn, or if we fail to ask for grace, for forgiveness, and for patience from those we love while we grow. I can't control how the Big Lug reacts to me or my snappishness or my secrecy or my bizarre (to him) behavior. All I can do is keep him in whatever loop I can (and stay as calm as I can) while I try to shift my perspective. All he can do is watch (sometimes helplessly, sometimes impatiently) as I do it ... and maybe give me some context. Which he frequently does.

I did ... didn't I?

So, lessons from the Big Lug - life happens. Real life, contrary to popular belief, is something that happens when you do pay attention. Taxes are as inevitable as time passing ... but regrets are another story. I didn't, didn't, didn't, it's true. But I did grow this year, change focus, expand boundaries, more than I would have believed possible. And despite all the problems in the world, the Big Lug and I are - right now - better positioned for success, on more levels than I can count, than we ever have been before. (It's no wonder I love him!)

Bobby Burns' "cup of kindness" was always meant to be shared. This year, I'll try to remember that it's about both the good ("We two have run about the slopes, and picked the daisies fine ...") and the bad ("But we've wandered many a weary foot, since auld lang syne ..."), and that maybe, just maybe, I should remember to drink that cup with myself, as well.

Here's to real life.