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.

"You don't need hands to hold her heart."

New look: You are air to me.

Have you ever run from someone you wanted to hold? Held a grudge longer than you could hold out hope? Hated yourself so much, you tried to be impossible to love? You’re not that special, you know. I’ve felt that way. And so has that lady on the train. And that dude that drops off your packages. And the person in the cubicle next to you. Just ask.

Shut Up and Love's new look, with the blurry people in the background, is about this universal vexation, how we feel and how others seem when we're loathe to love. See, people were lonely way before it was cool. And love –Love! - isn’t great. Lemon gelato, that’s great. Love is breathing for your soul. Does breathing count as great? Well, I guess so, to someone who was suffocating.

I’ll stop holding my breath, k? And you stop holding yours. Because you, my friend, are air to me. YOU are air to me. Is that weird? Gay? Unprofessional? To love you? Probably. But I love you. And I think you should love you, too. Yeah, it’s hard, but do it. Just shut up and love.