time marches on

What I always liked about New Year's celebrations is precisely how arbitrary they are. There is no religious mandate for the calendar to increment, no cultural touchstone we're celebrating, just celebrating that the year is over, in much the same way that we celebrate that the weekend has come. We've decided, not because our gods demand it, that when the year starts anew, we should take the time to reflect, to celebrate, to promise to do better.

By any standard, it's been a rough year and a rough decade. I like New Year's Eve because it's a quiet, personal day, and the predominant theme of this past decade is the slow strangulation of the quiet and the personal. There's no room left for little victories, for those peaceful moments where everything feels just right. It has been a bad decade in a way that is massive and all-encompassing.

And yet. I was worried we'd end this year with the sad drizzle that has characterized much of this month, but there's a strong wind blowing outside. I still remember, distant though those memories were, finding magic in the woods on an island somewhere, stepping into a softer world for a few perfect days. I've written things I'm proud of, made friends, survived. I have no reason to think it's going to get better out there, but there is no reason to abandon the quiet and the personal.

Take care of yourselves, and happy 2020.