Happy New Year, Please

I didn't even have the energy to see it in theatres.

There was no Christmas newsletter letter this year, because I could not save up enough hope from the past 10 months for holiday-themed writing. This year was the darkest one yet for me. And I really thought I already had a couple doozies under my belt. My youngest brother killed himself, and my mother's beloved passed away. Grief casts such a long shadow that I feel pity for all the good agents with the misfortune of meeting my murky countenance this year: the release of Step Up 3D, for example, joining my strip aerobics dance class's first performance ensemble, and, of course, my Beloved asking me to marry him. The lows were so low that the highs only gave me enough air to go back under water.

Some years have taught me that we are stronger than we think we are, but this year, I learned that everyone has a breaking point. Several of you, eight dear readers, are unflagging optimists, and I love you for it. You may say that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, and everything happens for a reason - on your blog.

This has always been a pragmatist's blog. I will say that a healed bone was indeed once a broken bone, and thanks to many who must have read the mental illness posts, 2011 has a chance to be the best year yet.


Before my new year's wishes for you, I'd like to pay homage to some of the little things that let me know I'm still inside myself somewhere.

This couple at Burning Man reminded me that not long ago, I used to love to dance.

Sometime in the fall, this hungry American got her tastebuds back, just in time for the Atlanta BBQ Festival.

And my belly laugh is making a timid return. Behold, a life-saving dinosaur knock knock joke captured on my phone this winter:

And just a couple weeks ago, a friend sent me this musical masterpiece from The Sing Off, and I found my legs. Much to my co-workers' relief, I'm sure, I started dancing at my desk again to this very video.

I know a lot of you have had a hard year, too, and want to bid 2010 good get-the-fuck-out. Resist the urge to send it off with choice words and thrown glass bottles as it heads out the door. Soothe it in your memory like a colicky baby, as Thich Nhat Hanh might say, and may it grow into 2011, the best year yet to come. If I don't see you tonight, I'll see y'all at the wedding.

Yours,
Ivy