Photo – a present to yourself

Sift through all the photos of you from the past year. Choose one that best captures you; either who you are, or who you strive to be. Find the shot of you that is worth a thousand words. Share the image, who shot it, where, and what it best reveals about you.
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Okay. There. A picture of me, from November 2010.

Look, I hate pictures of myself. I never feel like any of them "capture me" in any way, shape or form. This one, through tricks with camera angle and lighting, looks the most like the me I envision myself being. You can't see my tummy, you can't see my teeth, you can't see all the other myriad of flaws that usually bug the heck out of me about myself. And my hair is behaving itself. I look happy, and healthy, and thinner than I actually am. Is that deceptive? I don't know, and I don't really care.

Who shot it, and where, really has no bearing. It was a headshot, taken specifically for the purpose of showing to other people who want to see me.

There aren't, in my opinion, any pictures of me that are worth a thousand words. So... Alright, I give, I'm copping out here. But dammit, photos? I fucking hate photos. Grr!

Everything's OK

What was the best moment that could serve as proof that everything is going to be alright? And how will you incorporate that discovery into the year ahead?
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Everything being okay is a concept I've always struggled with. It's something I've never really been able to convince myself of, emotionally speaking, even if I can do it intellectually. See, I have this never ending internal monologue telling me about every flaw I have, every mistake I've ever made, and every mistake I will ever make, warning me that no matter what I do, or how well I do it, I will make a royal mess of it, and it will ruin everyone's life irreparably. I am constantly terrified of doing something wrong, saying the wrong thing, making the wrong choice... Of failing. Not myself, mind you, -- I've long ago resigned myself to the idea that I will always fail myself somehow, as unhealthy a mindset as that might be -- but other people; people I love, and care about, or even random strangers on the street. I never, ever, feel safe. Not entirely, anyway. There's almost always some part of myself that's afraid of something.

Yes, I am ridiculously and horribly insecure. I don't trust myself, or have faith in myself, for even simple every day life sorts of things.

I know why. Anyone who knows my parents should know why, too. From the moment I was old enough to remember, I was subject to a steady and unwavering stream of criticism. I have never, at least in my mother's eyes, been good enough, or strong enough, or smart enough, or pretty enough. Everything I touched was automatically flawed, just by virtue of me touching it. I was not trustworthy, or responsible enough. I would always screw it up, no matter how perfectly I did something. Any praise I did get was always tinged with some sort of judgement, balanced out by some complaint. And when simple criticisms and strings of emotional abuse weren't enough, screaming and yelling and lashing out physically would supplement...

And when your concept of "normal", from such a young age, consists of nothing but fear and degradation... After a while there's no re-writing it. You come to view praise as embarrassing, and it feels wrong. And that sense of wrongness perpetuates itself, playing on those fears of having done the wrong thing, said the wrong thing, and you end up feeling miserable. You find yourself needing someone to treat you badly, just so that you can feel good about yourself. You need to suffer, to feel like things are "right", and "real". Because anything else just feels... wrong.

Like, if you're right handed, but someone spent 20 years forcing you to write with your left hand, not letting you use your right hand for anything, only your left... And then suddenly, you find out that you can write with your right hand. Even though it's the most natural normal thing in the world, even though you KNOW that writing with your right hand is the correct thing for you, it feels wrong, because you've spent your entire life doing it a different way. Your frame of reference is skewed -- the negative of a photograph. Like a camera white balanced on a blue screen instead of a gray card...

Do I fight this thought pattern? Of course I do. The logical side of my head says that thinking that way about myself just can't be right. That I must do something correctly, or I wouldn't be alive, or have a stable healthy long term relationship, or a 12 year old son, or friends, or a place to live... But that irrational side of me, the one I can't seem to logic myself out of having, tells me that all of those things I got through sheer luck, that I'm undeserving of them, that I got them despite myself not because of myself. I argue with myself a lot. Pretty much every second of every day, I spend arguing with myself, trying to convince myself that I'm not a waste of oxygen, that I deserve the good things I have, that I can accomplish things, dammit.

There are only a rare few moments when I'm not having that never ending argument with myself. This afternoon was one of those moments, while I was out hiking what's become my standard 2.5 mile loop through the Fraser Woods, and down along Whatcom Creek. I can put my iPod on, and hike, the rest of the world beyond my sight blurring out into pretty much nothing. It's as if even I fade out of existence, and become nothing and no one -- just a body, moving, breathing, heart beating, and a set of eyes watching the birds, the bugs, the flowers, the trees, the river -- and that unceasing monologue of self depreciation stops. My head goes quiet. I'm not afraid. I don't have to hurt to feel like everything is right with the world, because "right" and "wrong" don't exist anymore. Things just are. And those are the times when I'm most able to think that everything is going to be alright.

So, in the year ahead? Hike more. Lots, lots more.

New Name

Let’s meet again, for the first time. If you could introduce yourself to strangers by another name for just one day, what would it be and why?
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I... What? What on earth kind of silly question is this?

Okay, fine, so maybe there are people out there who don't have nicknames that have become so ingrained into their own self identity that they use those nicknames instead of their real names. Maybe, there are people out there who hate their real names badly enough that they want to use another one. Maybe there are people out there who have a fantasy self that they want to live out for a single day. I am not one of those people.

I introduce myself to strangers as "tess". Sure, it's not my real name (at the moment anyway -- it will be my legal middle name soon enough -- long story.), but it's a nickname that so many friends call me, and have called me for so long, that it's just sort of what I think of my name being. The only people who call me by my given name are people who have known me for longer than that nickname has been around -- mostly family, and friends who are so close and so long lived as to be as good (or better than) as family. Even M doesn't call me by my given name, and we've been together for 6 years now.

And this nickname of mine, properly spelled in the lower-case despite legal documents refusing to recognize that peculiarity, is even more the real me than my given name. Again, a long story. But it was an organic process, not just something picked out of thin air by me that I propagated the use of. It just sort of, well, happened. And I like it. So I can't really think of any other name I'd rather use than the one I already do. It has meaning to me -- much more meaning than the one my parents gave me -- and makes me smile to hear it used because it reminds me of that meaning every time.

Travel

How did you travel in 2010? How and/or where would you like to travel next year?
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How? By car, and by foot. :p

Okay, serious answer. I spent 2010 doing a lot of local exploration. Going out to YAL in my county, finding the cool waterfalls, winding my way through dirt packed trails to find yet another route to try fulfill my goals of 6 miles of hiking a week. We've gone up to Baker Lake, Mount Baker, Nooksack Falls, Silver Lake, Lake Whatcom, Chuckanut Mountain, Teddy Bear Cove, road tripped all along 542, 20, 9, and a bunch of little back roads that I can't remember the names of. We've gone down to Seattle a couple times, gone to Roslyn, spent snowy winter days in Leavenworth, gone to see Snoqualmie Falls, and the little diner from Twin Peaks. By myself, I've hiked through the Fraser Woods, and along Whatcom Creek, and through the marsh between the two.

It may not be "travel", as such, to some people. But for me, it is. And I'm continuing it this year. I always will. I love exploring, and there's so much to explore right out my back door, that I don't need to go on huge trips to "travel".

That said, I'll probably be heading home to NY for a week or so this summer. And I want to go see friends and loved ones in other places as well. Whether or not I can afford to, I don't know. But I'm going to try.

Future Self

Imagine yourself five years from now. What advice would you give your current self for the year ahead? (Bonus: Write a note to yourself 10 years ago. What would you tell your younger self?)
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Okay, this is starting to get a lil bit old. I don't think this way. I can't even imagine next week, let alone 5 years down the line. As for advice, while I can think of things that I should advise myself to do, or do differently than I am now, I've always been one of those people who sees themselves as a sum of all the experiences they have in their lives -- good and bad alike. If I were to change those things, I'd be changing who I am. I don't really want to change who I am.

Yes, there are things that would make life easier if I had done them 10 years ago. Yes, there are things that would make life easier in the future if I do them now. But... Would I still be me if I messed with the flow of life that way? Ugh. It all seems so paradoxical.

See, if I'd done things differently 10 years ago, I wouldn't have met M. Or R. Or C. Or J. Or any of the people I've found to be so important to me in my life now. And in 5 years, I'll probably look back on now, and feel the same way. If I'd have done things differently, I wouldn't be that me anymore.

And I don't know if I'd like a me who wasn't this me. I don't think I would, really. As much as I have a hard time accepting and embracing myself the way I am, I do rather like myself. At least, the core parts of "who I am". And it's those core parts that I worry about getting changed with doing things differently.

Even if this isn't the "best" path I'm on, it's MY path, dammit.

Beyond Avoidance

What should you have done this year but didn't because you were too scared, worried, unsure, busy or otherwise deterred from doing? (Bonus: Will you do it?)
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Oh boy. Avoidance. Something I'm really really good at. I am a class A procrastinator. I will, and do, put off anything and everything for just about any reason I can possibly come up with. Especially things that scare, worry, or distress me in some way.

Just about everything in my personal life gets put off until the last minute, waiting until I simply cannot ignore it anymore before I take action on it. It's beyond unhealthy for me to do, I know, because that whole time I'm putting it off I'm still worrying about it.

For evidentiary perusal:

Dental issues -- My teeth are a mess. I grind them, clench my jaw, both awake and asleep. I've ground down so much of them that eventually I'm just going to have to have them all pulled, and get fake ones. No implants for me, as they can't stand up to the pressure I put on my teeth. As a result of grinding them down the way I do, some have broken. One, in particular broke rather badly. I didn't see a dentist for it. If I had, it would probably have just been capped, and been fine. But I put it off, thinking "oh, it doesn't hurt, it'll be fine". Well, it abscessed. So, instead of a capped tooth, I've a blank spot in my jaw where the tooth used to be, and a dental bill about 3x what I would have paid for the cap. Did I learn from that, and get the rest of the broken ones fixed? Nooooo of course not. I justify myself out of it saying how I don't have the cash, blah blah blah. Meanwhile, I'm terrified of dentists. Absolutely and completely phobic. I won't even let another person come near me with a toothpick for crissakes, let alone those scary looking dental tools, it's that complete of a phobia.

Getting another job -- Yes, technically I have a job. I'm drastically underemployed though. I need more income. Desperately. And I've been fit to go back to work for over a year now. But I haven't even seriously started looking. I glance at classified ads, or browse careerbuilder, or idly scroll through craigslist every so often. I've even dug out my resume and brainstormed a bit about how I need to rewrite it. Have I actually done anything though? Nope. Because part of me is scared to death of going out and getting a job and finding out that I hate it, or that I suck at it, or that having to keep to a regular schedule like that will fuck over the tenuous hold on my sanity that I've barely managed to maintain, or... I don't even know what else. I gloss this over, so I'm sure the response to reading this is a "just suck it up and try" kind of response. But when I start to write that resume, as I've done about 15 times so far, something akin to blind terror washes over me, and I wind up running away from it as fast as I can (sometimes almost literally).

Hell, even simple things like leaving the house to go to the store, trying to get back in the car to learn to drive again, doing just about anything that might require me to interact with "people" freaks me out. And I do mean that in as much of a melodramatic way as possible -- my own reactions to these things, things that other people do with no problem (going to the bank, calling up the cable company to change a subscription, going out to dinner) leave me feeling rather disgusted with myself. What in blue hell, I wonder, is wrong with me that I get SO anxious and scared? Especially since there are times that these things aren't a problem for me at all, and I can do them without even thinking about it. And I have no idea what makes one instance different from another. No clue at all.

So. Bonus question. Will I do these things that I struggle so hard to not be afraid of? Some of them I don't have a choice about. I will, eventually, do them. I have to go to the store at least sometimes, so I take my iPod and blare whatever loud enough to try and make me not go all claustrophobic in the crowds. I have to get another job. We'll run outta money eventually (eventually? hah we already have, really), and the only thing to do will be to go to work. Teeth? Well, if I wait long enough pain will make the decision for me.

Thing is, I need an outside motivator. Left to my own devices, I would find ways around needing these things (yeah, even income, I can be that stubborn). And that outside motivator works best when it's a slow, gentle, persistent coaxing putting me at ease while remaining firm. Well, or if everything blows up and I get so caught up running damage control that I can ignore how scared I am. But I'd really rather not have to wait for the second option -- things are so much more messy that way. I don't have an outside motivator though and I'm not sure how to go about getting one.

Am I the only one who has this sort of trouble? I feel like I am...

Healing

What healed you this year? Was it sudden, or a drip-by-drip evolution? How would you like to be healed in 2011?
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It's funny. I've had a hard time with this prompt. I shouldn't, really, given the state of my health in 2009, and the changes over the course of 2010, and even this year now. But I'm getting hung up on the word -- healing. I don't feel "healed". I feel like, sure, a medical issue is being managed. It's not gone, it will always be looming over me, needing attention, care, treatment. I will always need medication. So while the physical symptoms may be minimized and, to a degree, healed... It just doesn't feel that way.

And I'm trying to think if there are any other ways that I've felt healed, ever, and just coming up empty. I have to wonder if it's a mentality thing, a perception thing. Am I too cynical, too jaded, to ever see any of my hurts or injuries (physical or otherwise) as truly being healed? Or am I focusing on the scars left behind? Maybe... Maybe I don't consider something "healed" if there's a scar left, if it's still sore, if it still aches.

I think, there's a part of me that wouldn't know what to do if I suddenly had everything "healed" that needed to be. I hold onto those hurt bits, those damaged pieces, ragged edges and bruised parts, as part of my identity. I wonder if I would still be "me" without them...

Try

What do you want to try next year? Is there something you wanted to try in 2010? What happened when you did/didn't go for it?
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Ugh. What is it with this spate of prompts that I just can't identify with?

I have never had any issue trying just about anything I wanted to try. As with wonder, the desire to try things runs rampant in me. Always has. I have an adventurous soul, or something. But okay... Try...

I tried learning to drive last year. Yes, I'm 32 and I've never had a driver's license. Yes, that's pretty lame. But hey, I grew up somewhere where I didn't need to drive, and had a stupid parent who vetoed me learning when everyone else was doing it, so I just kind of got used to the idea of doing without -- even though I adore cars, own my own, and do all the repair work on it myself. So, that weird little quirk started to bug me. And I went out and got my learner's permit.

Honestly, my attempt at learning has been somewhat half-assed. Not entirely my fault, but still. My sticking point is that I cannot seem to figure out how to drive forward in a straight line. I can drive backwards in a straight line. I can do doughnuts like a champ. U-turns are easy. 3 point turns are easy. Driving down a curvy road is cake. But drive straight for more than 20 ft? Nope. I fail. Miserably.

I haven't given up... Not entirely anyway. But M is a horrible teacher. And he's all I've got to choose from, teacher-wise. It's times like this that I wish my dad wasn't 900 miles away...

Lesson Learned

What was the best thing you learned about yourself this past year? And how will you apply that lesson going forward?
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Best. I struggle with words like these, that define something as being paramount over any other thing. it's just not that simple to me. There are no "bests" of anything... Even when I actually use the term, it's with the understanding that I'm actually speaking about things in a relative manner. I even have more than one "best friend".

So. I don't know what the "best" thing I learned about myself this past year was. There were many important lessons I learned (last post as evidence there). And I've been applying them, being gentle with myself, caring with myself, patient with myself, to allow myself to learn more. But I simply cannot identify any one particular thing I learned that was "the best".

Friendship

How has a friend changed you or your perspective on the world this year? Was the change gradual, or a sudden burst?
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Friendships... There are so many ways that they change us, in little ways and in big ones. Sometimes in ways we don't even notice until long after the fact. Sometimes in ways that are blatantly obvious.

All my friendships, few of them as there have been, have changed me drastically. In junior high, they taught me about mortality, the risk of losing the things you love, of having to deal with complex medical issues. My freshman year of high school, they helped me discover facets of my sexuality, and my capacity to color outside the lines in terms of love. Later on in high school, they taught me what it really meant to be part of a family, to have people care for you unconditionally because of you, and not just because of how you might inconvenience their lives. As an adult I have learned incalculable lessons, not just about the world at large, but about myself.

In the past year... I have learned more about myself, through the eyes of my closest friends, than ever. A large number of those things were things I already knew, but for one reason or another had forgotten. And a good number of those lessons were taught by one particular friend, Jaye. He reminded me about who I was, brought me out of the shell that being sick had put me into, highlighted so many wonderful things about me... Things I hadn't seen in myself for so long. Things I didn't even realize I'd stopped seeing, that I'd lost. But he helped me find them. The feisty, flirty, ambitious, creative, strong, confident, interesting, metal/motor head that I always have been -- but that got lost under all the stresses and fuckups life dropped in my lap. As if that wasn't enough, he showed me that it was okay to let down my guard once in a while. Show that I was unhappy, that I was scared... Be less than perfect. And that I was still worthy of being needed, and wanted, as more than just a mom, or a corporate cog, or a life partner.

I don't know that I'll ever be able to say how much that means to me. Or how much of a difference it's made, having that sort of love, acceptance, and encouragement... How much of a difference it makes every day.

5 minutes

Imagine you will completely lose your memory of 2010 in five minutes. Set an alarm for 5 minutes and capture the things you most want to remember.
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Would anyone mind if I just skip this one? I hate this "set a timer and write" thing -- it didn't work in elementary school, didn't work in high school, didn't work in college, and still doesn't work. I think too deeply. Being this shallow... Feels forced and wrong to me. Shouldn't I be able to devote the amount of time appropriate to each memory instead of just spouting out a flat boring list?

Appreciate

What's the one thing you have come to appreciate most in the past year? How do you express gratitude for it?
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Sun.

Growing up in California, sun was something we took for granted. Or, in my case, came to despise. I've always been somewhat nocturnal, and the insult that the sun was to my eyes just can't be understated. That giant nuclear reactor in the sky and I never really got along. If it wasn't handing out sunburns like advertising flyers in a mall parking lot, then it was at least bumping the temperature up higher than any human being should reasonably find comfortable. I hid from it, avoiding the outside world and all the joys thereof in the process. Even in California, I was more Goth naturally than any face painted lover of the dark, if only due to my skin tone. I loved rainy days, and the deeper the cloud cover the happier I was. And then, I moved.

There's a reason people make the joke that I live in the frozen north. Most of that reason is based on stereotypes that don't really apply to the specific area I live in, but sometimes that stereotype holds true. This past winter was one those times. Since late november, if it hasn't been snowing (which, it hasn't much though it did more than it last year) it's pretty much been raining. And when I say raining, I don't mean what I'd normally mean by "raining" here. You see, typical Washington rain is light. It's barely even there. More like the sky spitting at you occasionally throughout the day. It's not even a full on drizzle. Not like down in California. In California it was much more like the sky splitting open and dumping a swimming pool on your head. This year, it's rained like it did in California. Huge torrential downpours that lasted not just days at a time, but weeks. Weeks, and weeks, and weeks, of nothing but never ending walking around with a spillway emptying onto your head. The creek out front has flooded twice. Once badly enough that the city had to send out trucks to block off the road so no one attempted to drive through and get their car stuck. Normally that creek is only about a foot and a half wide, and 8 inches deep. Just to illustrate the point. The ground is so completely saturated now even after a break from the rain, when it starts up again there are flash flood warnings for half the county. And when we get wind, like we did yesterday (hurricanes, woohoo), the ground isn't solid enough to keep the trees from blowing over.

That much rain wears on a person. That little sun also wears on a person. I mean, it's bad enough that I live far enough north that in December we're lucky if we get a full 8 hours of sun in a day, but on top of that, at noon it's been almost pitch black because of the weather.

So. I am now a BIG fan of sunshine. I crave it. I get up in the morning and look outside hoping, praying, that the sun will be out. And when it is, no matter how cold it may be, no matter what else I had planned for the day, I head outside -- even if it's just for a lil bit of a road trip. I revel in sunshine now, just standing on my balcony basking in it, letting it soak into my skin, drowning in the warmth of it. As proof I've got more of a tan now, even in winter, than I ever did living in California. Skin cancer risks be damned.

Action

When it comes to aspirations, it's not about ideas. It's about making ideas happen. What's your next step?
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My next step is to bitch about how stupid this prompt is. Seriously. This prompt is full of shit. Here's why:

Having an idea, just the mere act of imagining something other than what is, is infinitely more important than making that idea happen. It can, in and of itself, be life changing. I'm not talking about anything silly like "The Secret" or thinking things into existence. That's just nonsense -- if you want things in life, you have to work for them. Instead, what I mean is that being creative enough to have an idea in the first place affects more than just the idiopathic thoughts in your head. It affects how you see the world. Just changing that view, skewing it even slightly, can be cathartic. Or it can be a catalyst for a metamorphosis of spirit; the metaphysical trailhead on a journey of self discovery and personal growth.

I guess the thing that rubs me the wrong way about this prompt is that it embodies one of the things that rubs me the wrong way about modern society as a whole; this focus on results, events, end points. The road we take to get to those places is completely ignored or, even worse, discounted as unnecessary. We no longer care about the journey, as long as the destination is satisfactory. For me, that journey is important. More important than the destination, even.

And this is where I'm struggling with life, in general. I don't have a destination in mind. I feel like I need to, though. Is that me, saying that to myself? Or is it all the external pressure from everyone else, family, friends, society, saying that I need to conform? Who do I listen to? Do I really need a destination to avoid the stagnation that I'm so frustrated with myself for? Or would it be okay to just pick a direction to walk in, at random? It worked out okay, following my body and my inner self in terms of body integration... Didn't it?

But it's not socially acceptable, wandering, nomadicism (look at me, inventing words -- screw you Dictionary, that's the word I need). We are agrarian, stable, static. Going against that, even in spirit... Sets me out there on that fringe again. Maybe it's time for me to just accept that the fringe is where I belong, and leave it at that.

If only I could figure out why that's such a depressing thought.

Body Integration

When did you feel the most integrated with your body?  Did you have a moment where there wasn't mind and body but simply a cohesive YOU, alive and present?
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I can picture the day clearly. The blue of the sky, cloudless and bright. The sun slanting sharply from the south, even at it's highest in the sky, signaling winter's fast approach. But it wasn't winter yet, despite the sting of late autumn on the air; a cool breeze across the heat of my skin as I climbed the ridge to gaze down on the river raging below.

I'd started out intending only to do my normal two mile walk to the creek and back. But for some reason I'd kept going. Something inside me wasn't ready to turn around. And when I got to the Whatcom falls fork in the trail, I knew why; I needed to see the falls.

I didn't question myself. There were no "what ifs" about the decision. I took no pause at the idea of turning my two mile hike into five, or more, on trails I'd never taken. I felt no fear, no trepidation, no anxiety. I was... I just was. And as I climbed that ridge, I continued to just be. Breath heaving in my throat, flowing across my lips in short sharp gasps, I wound my way into the trees. The drive of the Metallica playing on my iPod set the pace of my feet, pounding against the packed dirt trail. The slow hot burn in my thighs and my shoulders seeping through me, a pleasant pain, telling me I was doing good, hard, worthwhile things...

I passed people. I know I did. I can see them, plain as day, in my mind's eye. Two skinny women in workout tights and fleece vests over skin tight jogging shirts passed me going the opposite direction. They had a dog of some sort, one of those ones that I can't help but think of sewer rats when I see. But, despite knowing they were there, and being able to recall them, it was as if I was the only person on the trail. I was. I just was. For an hour, two, as I climbed further, the path winding along the river, up and up again into the hills, there was nothing except the breath in my lungs and the beat of my feet against the ground.

And then the falls. I heard them before I saw them, the rush of water falling on rock. The sound of nature's raw power. And as I came around a turn, there they were. Tumbling over granite, sheets of snow and glacier melt cascaded down to shallower calmer pools. I was breathless. Not just because of the hike, but because of the sheer intensity of the sight. It was so much more than me... So much more than I ever would be, leaving marks upon the earth to be seen and felt hundreds and thousands of years later. Knowing that if I were to step off into that current, I would be as much a deterrent as a gnat venturing too close to the river's surface. I don't know why I find thoughts like those comforting, why I take solace in the idea that I am just one more insignificant upon the planet, but I do. It wasn't even a conscious thought then. It was, in that moment, a divine truth. Undeniable.

And still, I just was. No argument in my head. No conflicting feelings. No undesired thoughts, or memories. Just me. Breathing hard, leaning against the rail of the bridge across the river, muscles on fire from the 3.5 miles uphill I'd just come, hair and clothing sweat soaked, the beating of my heart indistinguishable from the roar of the falls that filled my ears. I wanted to stay, forever, in that moment, to never lose hold of that feeling, or that lack of fear. And, I suppose, part of me always will.

11 Things

What are 11 things your life doesn’t need in 2011? How will you go about eliminating them? How will getting rid of these 11 things change your life?
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11 things? What an arbitrary number. I've been staring at this prompt for the greater part of a day, and I still have very little idea of what to write. There are things I would love to not have to deal with in my life. But the reality of it is, I will never be able to eliminate those things.

Stress. Stress will always be here, in some form or another... I can't rid my life of it. I can't eliminate it. I can try to reduce it, sure. But a large amount of it is completely beyond my control.

Pain. Yeah, life is painful. That's just kind of a given. Nothing to do about that.

Judgement. I'd have to rewrite humanity to rid myself of that one... We judge. It's how we survive. Whether those judgements are correct or not is besides the point. We have to make them. Even of ourselves.

Labels. Again, another one of those staples of life. I would love to not have to use labels to describe myself to other people. But without using labels, I'd have to spend hours and hours explaining, without even having the context of other labels to use as a jumping off point. We categorize. It's our nature, to label and sort and try and get things into some kind of order we can understand. Without those labels, we're lost.

That's 4 so far... How am I supposed to come up with 11 without getting into really really shallow nonsense?

My life does not need dirty dishes. I'm tired of washing them, or having to prod other people to wash them. I wish I could just have them magic themselves into the dishwasher, and then into the cupboards again when they're clean. But that's not going to happen. Instead, they will pile up on the counter, cleverly avoiding getting into the dishwasher when it's run, breeding, until I finally break and can't stand it anymore and just wash them myself, no matter who's job it was originally to take care of them.

Dust mites. I could really do without dust mites. If they would all just up and die, I could save $50 a month for my allergy prescription, and not have to worry about ending up with eosinophilic pneumonia or crippling widespread chronic pain ever again. Again, not gonna happen. And no amount of vacuuming or spraying or washing things will even get rid of the ones in my house. So, pointless to even think about that one...

Ugh. This list feels like an exercise in futility... And I just can't bring myself to be superficial enough to make it easier. So fuck it. I'm done. 6 is more than half. That's good enough.

Wisdom

What was the wisest decision you made this year, and how did it play out?
---
I spent a couple hours this afternoon griping about this prompt, and wound up telling myself that I need to shut the hell up already and stop with the self-defeating nonsense.

See, there's a part of me that doesn't see any of the decisions I've made as particularly wise. There's another part of me that feels I didn't really make much in the way of decisions, that I just kind of got swept up in life and "things happened" without so much as a say so from me. Maybe that's true, maybe it's not. It's probably not, but it's how I feel, regardless. I even feel that I've knowingly gone along with bad ideas because I didn't really think there was another viable option.

I mean, so many things happened that really just felt entirely outside of my control, that I found myself saying "oh boy, this is a bad idea. Shit, nothing else to be done though. Here goes nothing..." at least, in the back of my mind, if not outwardly so. It's a crappy place in life to be, and I hate it.

That being said: Progress, towards what I'm not entirely sure at this point, is being made. The biggest thing was kiddo coming to live with us. This was not exactly my decision, and it wasn't even exactly my desire. But it needed to happen, and I went with it, despite the "oh boy this is a bad idea" nagging at the back of my head. Things with his dad were SO BAD that I couldn't just sit back anymore and not do anything. And, admittedly, the change in location as well as living situation, has been good for the kiddo. But it hasn't been so great for me or M.

Ugh. This is fresh in my mind right now, after an evening battling with kiddo trying to get him to pay attention to the world around him long enough to do simple things like brush his teeth without it taking a half an hour. Maybe the frustration is coloring my view of things. But that's it, isn't it. This level of frustration... I don't know what to do with it, or where to channel it.

By having the kiddo here with me, his life is better. He's healthier, and his emotional state is healthier. But mine... My emotional state is worse, drastically. My freedom is gone. I cannot just up and go somewhere, I have to worry about if he's home or not, if he's fed or not, if his homework is done, and so on and so forth. My peace is gone. If he's not eating away at it directly, then he's doing so indirectly with video games or tv or playing loudly or what have you. Things do not run smoothly here any longer -- everything is a battle. Everything. From getting him to eat dinner, to getting him to get ready for bed, to getting him to do homework, or take a shower... Nothing is simple anymore.

There are nights that I can't sleep because I've had to endure so much frustration, all the while attempting to be a good mom and not lash out at him about it, that I'm an aching ball of stress. Tonight is one of those nights. And while I know that having him here is the best possible option, the only real option, the wisest decision even, I can't help but hear that voice in the back of my head saying "oh, this was a bad idea..."

Party

What social gathering rocked your socks off in 2010? Describe the people, music, food, drink, clothes, shenanigans.
---
Party?  Bwahahahahaha... Right.  No parties for me.  No social gatherings.

Next?

Beautifully Different

Think about what makes you different and what you do that lights people up. Reflect on all the things that make you different – you’ll find they’re what make you beautiful.
---
Different... I know there are lots of things that make me different. Tons and hundreds and gallons and whatever large measurement you could possibly come up with. But somehow, very few of them seem all that "unique" on their own. There are tons of people who enjoy Industrial Gothic Death metal. There are even more people who love food, or "getting lost" in the woods. There are even more people than that who are obsessed with technological gadgets.

I think... I think the main thing that makes me different, that lights people up, is that I am so accepting of who they are, taking them faults and all with no judgement. I care, unconditionally, even about people that piss me off. Heck, some of the better friends I have I've gotten after arguing with them over something. And I care deeply, very easily.

I've been told, several times lately in fact, that there is a kindness in me that is something that's hard to find in people. I'd have to agree with that. I am kind. And loving. And affectionate. And passionate.

I feel the world just a little bit more intensely than other people seem to. As a result, I feel pain just that much more strongly than other people seem to. And because I know just how badly it can hurt, I'm loathe to make anyone else feel that way, and will go out of my way to alleviate any discomfort someone is experiencing if I can. Even if I can't, I'll commiserate, let them know they're not alone, all the while never once looking down on them. Despite the additional pain it puts me through.

I suffer so much at my own hands, and I suffer in ways that I don't have to. I choose, even if it's subconsciously, to drown myself in other people's troubles/sorrows/fears/faults, to take on their pain as if it were my own. I know it's not necessarily a healthy thing to do, that there are ways of making other people feel better without making myself feel worse. But, I have a hard time keeping that kind of distance without completely removing myself from the situation. And... I can't keep pulling that far away anymore, despite being tempted.

I have a friend right now who's struggling greatly with Borderline Personality Disorder (Angel, if you read this, don't take it the wrong way, please). Many times the conversations we have leave me feeling worn, and raw, and hurting. Not because of anything to do with me, or because of anything he's done, but simply because I can see the sheer amount of pain he's in, and I lack the ability to distance myself from that pain. Sometimes I find myself wanting to shy away, to retreat, run from that friendship, because I am afraid of being hurt that way. But then... I'll hear him laugh, because I've said or done something that managed to cut through whatever else was going on in his head and made him happy, even for just a split second. And all that fear of being hurt disappears. It's worth it to me, if me giving just that little bit of love and support can bring a little bit of light to someone.

If I were to look at myself through other people's eyes, see myself as if I were looking at someone else, I'd say they were kind, and caring, and giving to a degree that bordered upon selflessness. And beautiful because of it.

Maybe I should look at myself through other people's eyes more often...

Community

Where have you discovered community, online or otherwise, in 2010? What community would you like to join, create or more deeply connect with in 2011?
---
Hm. Another hard one.

Community, or rather the lack thereof, in my life has been somewhat of a sore spot lately. Online communities have been, for the past couple of years anyway, my only real form of socialization. I've joined some, left some, investigated some, not really finding a "home" in any of them. Always remaining on the fringes, no matter how much I've tried to participate.

I have a love/hate relationship with people, you see. As much as I need to be around them, need them to talk to, or find validation or companionship with them, there are aspects of humanity that disgust me. Groupthink being a big part of that, clique-ish tendencies, judgement and ostracizing of anyone who doesn't "fit in".

And then there's the whole thing about true selves. I value the true self, as much as I run from my own. Honesty is the keystone of my interaction with anyone and everyone around me. But I don't feel that I can be my true self with many people. Which means I can't be honest, at least not to the degree I feel I should be. And I don't like being put in that position. The one where I feel I either have to lie, or be alone. So, I often just go with the path of least resistance and keep to myself.

I started trying to change that a little bit last year, finding a chat room for an online literary group that I read fairly often. I've made friends there. Good ones, ones that over the past few months I've spilled my guts to about all the chaos in my head, ones that I've cried to, and sobbed to, and who have been patient and understanding with me, even offering very good advice. And I've been there for these friends too, listening to their troubles, helping as best I can, even if it's just being willing to answer my phone at 4am when they need someone to talk to. It's not really community though, as these are one on one friendships that aren't really shared with anyone else -- not even with M.

I want, desperately, to be part of a group. I'm feeling really isolated right now, and I don't like the crazy shit that ends up going through my head because of that isolation. But it has to be a group that would be accepting of me, the way I am. And that's not so easy to find when I don't even really know who I am.

I'm making the effort still, though. I joined two message boards for people who share a particular defining characteristic of my lifestyle (what that characteristic is, I'm not entirely sure I'm willing to share too openly yet, at least not without being able to explain in detail so there's no confusion). But they're small groups. There's not a lot of activity. And as such, it's harder to become part of it in a meaningful way. I'd like to expand on that, find things for me to be a part of in real life. It's just so hard...

I don't trust easily. I never have. The idea of opening up enough to be able to be part of a "community"... Scares me a little. I need it though. I used to have it, to a degree, and I want it back. Need it back.

Make

What was the last thing you made? What materials did you use? Is there something you want to make, but you need to clear some time for it?
---
Alright. This prompt is just, lame.

I make things constantly. I don't always finish making them right away, but I do make them. I've made so many things in the past year, I don't know that I can really count them all.

Hats and scarves for not just myself but M and the kiddo too. A sweater for M. I've made baskets out of recycled CAT-5 cable. Started a quilt, and at least finished the top, even if I'm still working on all the hand quilting (omg that's time consuming. wtf was I thinking?). I've made other things, not that they really jump to mind right away, but... If there's something we need that we don't have the money for that I could feasibly make, I do.

Do I need to clear time for these things? No. Time I have. Focus and motivation I do not always have. Especially when the only purpose behind a particular project is "I feel like doing this", and it ends up being a lot harder than I'd originally thought it would be.

Example: Zulu baskets. I started one, using recycled CAT-5 cable that I split up myself, and old speaker wire. Unfortunately, there are no online tutorials about how to make these. But, being stubborn I looked at them, studied what I could, found documentaries about Zulu craftsmen making them, said "I can do that" and dove right in. OH MY GOD. No I can't do that. Don't get me wrong. I have the physical capability, and the intelligence to figure out the stitch patterns, and how to get the thing started. The one I started is 75% done, in fact. The problem? I don't know how to finish it. None of anything I read talked about how to decrease the thing to get the flat bottom. None of the videos I saw came close to showing how to do that. Something I conveniently overlooked in my decision to start the damned thing. I tried to figure it out on my own. I experimented with different techniques I already knew, played with different ways of coiling the wire, even went so far as to try and weave in ends to decrease by actually reducing the number of strands I was working with. All to no avail. None of it looked right. So it's sat, unfinished, it's lack of being finished staring at me, judging me, for getting in over my head, for months now. I'm sorely tempted to just rip the whole thing out, and re-use the materials to do something more conventional (like my last few), but I can't quite bring myself to admit defeat yet. And yet, at the same time, I'm not quite motivated enough to push forward with any particular decision. Bah.

So yeah. Time is not the issue here.

Let Go

What (or Whom) have you let go of?
---
Well, damn.  These prompts are getting difficult.

My first thought was that I haven't let go of anything, or anyone.  At least, not entirely.  That whatever things, people, concepts, ideas, I might describe as having "let go" of are things that I'm still actively attempting to hold onto in some regard, even if only subconsciously.  But that's not really true.  It's just that what I have let go of is so tangentially related to all the bullshit I've gone through, and took place slowly enough, that I don't think I even realized I was letting go of it.  Not until now, when I really stopped to think about it.

I have, for the vast majority of my life, struggled with "emotional stability".  I have bipolar disorder and complex PTSD.  Being "normal" when it comes to emotional responses to situations is not something I've ever really been capable of.

I tried.  Oh god how I tried.  I went to therapist after therapist, took medication after medication, went through behavior modification training, cognitive therapy... All trying to be "normal", trying to get my range of emotions to fit into the range that "everyone else's" do.

And when none of those things worked, when the medications and the "therapy" just made things worse, I faked it, or avoided it, or distracted myself from it.  I tried to convince myself that if I could just pretend hard enough to be happy, I would be.  Eventually.  So I forced the smile, forced the laughter, pushed away every "bad" feeling I could manage to for as long as I could manage.  I was going to be "normal", dammit, even if I had to destroy myself doing it.

[Aw hell.  Anyone noticing a theme for me here?  I sure as heck am, and I don't think I like it very much.  Aren't I the person who always said that normal was boring?  Didn't I always pride myself on being different, and special, and going against the grain?  wtf happened here?]

But I couldn't keep it up.  Especially with the added stresses of the past year or three.  I finally had to let it show to the people around me.  I was shocked when they didn't run screaming from the amount of "crazy" (I thought it was "crazy" in any case) that I dumped in their laps.  But not only did they not run screaming, they seemed to like me more for it, trust me more, open up to me more.

When M's mom was starting to move up here is, I think, the point when I finally gave up trying to hide the fact that I felt badly about stuff.  She's a hoarder, and her house... Her living situation... Was... Too gruesome to really go into.  And her financial situation was fucked beyond belief.  And I was bending over backwards, tying my own life into knots, to help her (through M) get things figured out so she could get out of her mess.  Right when my life had gotten just that much more difficult, with my kid moving in with me again.  It was a breaking point for me.  I simply was feeling too much hurt, anger, frustration, to hold it in any more.  And so I found myself sitting at my favorite distraction (World of Warcraft) one afternoon, and it all just boiled over.  I dumped it all into guild chat when someone gave me the opening by asking how I was.  And nothing bad happened.  The world did not implode.  No one died.  Instead I got a song written just for me, to cheer me up a bit, and one of my best friends out of the deal too.

So I let go of the impenetrable front I'd been putting up (admittedly, I wasn't putting it up very well) of "nothing phases me, I'm happy."

I'm still deprogramming myself though.  So while I've let go of the idea that I need to be a "shining happy people" all the time, I'm still working on how exactly showing the rest of my emotions to other people (people who aren't M -- he sees a fair amount of my insanity, and always has) is supposed to work.  It seems that, between hiding my inner self and my outer self being so isolated, I've forgotten a lot of the nuances.  Most specifically the ones about what level of honesty is appropriate when.  So I fuck up.  A lot.  Especially when alcohol gets involved.

Yeah... Oops.

Wonder

How did you cultivate a sense of wonder...
---

Wonder is my blackberry vine.  Can someone rent me some goats?

Okay, so only someone who lives in the Pacific Northwest will get that particular joke.  The analogy is apt anyway.  See, I've struggled with this prompt.  I've stared at it, and stared at it, and stared some more, trying to figure out what to say.

I've never had to "cultivate" wonder in myself.  I can't even begin to imagine what it would be like to need to do so.  I am constantly, perpetually, curious and awed about the world and just about everything in it.  Even the things I dislike strong enough to use the word "hate" about.  I'm just driven to want to know, to understand, things.  And I find all that more fascinating than anything fictional or made up.

Maybe I should have been a scientist.  But I've always found hard science too limiting.  It requires too much focus.  There's simply no room for generalism and I'm definitely a generalist.  Jack of all trades, master of none.

Just this past weekend, driving up to YAL (yet another lake) to explore, I tried my hand at practicing botany, geology, meteorology, climatology, hydrology, topology... Everything I said seemed to start with "Oh wow, what's that?" or "Oh, how pretty, I wonder how..." as I'd wander in for a closer look.  

The weekend before, I spent some unknown amount of time standing on a beach along a raging white water river, just looking at the rocks.  Staring at the patterns and colors in them, trying to figure out how exactly they got that way, what minerals caused what effect, whether they were volcanic or sedimentary.

The weekend before that, I stood at the bottom of a glacial valley, on the shores of a lake so calm it mirrored the mountains on either side of it, and watched steam plumes from the vents of an active volcano.  Just awed by the fact that I was standing there, so seemingly insignificant in comparison to this living mountain that hadn't erupted in millennia.  

Even people, as much as they often infuriate me, fascinate me.  Sociology, psychology, anthropology.  Language, especially, I love learning about.  How it affects culture, and how culture affects it in return.

Life, and death as well, hold so much to wonder about.  I just can't seem to stop poking at any of it.

But... It has it's downside.  I often get lost in my computer screen, drowning my curiosity in google searches and wiki articles.  Doing that thing where you start out wanting to know about one specific subject, but you see a link to something else interesting, which links to something else interesting, which links to something else... And before you know it, hours have gone by.  Your simple question of "Has Estonia adopted the Euro yet?" has turned into a winding journey that twisted and turned it's way through the web and left you staring at a research paper about the long term effects of hand sanitizer on lab rats.

Moment

Pick one moment during which you felt the most alive this year
---
This has been a tough prompt for me because the moments I feel the most alive have to do with the contents of that Pandora's Box I'm so afraid of facing.  Admitting that is hard enough for me, except under the most special of circumstances, that I won't bother narrowing it down to one.

But here we go:  Confession time.

I have never felt more alive than when giving up complete and total control of myself to someone else.  Submitting entirely and becoming nothing and no one but the subject and object of their desire, their whim, their fantasy, to use as they see fit.  The less in control I am, the freer I become -- able to do, and say, and feel all those things that are such guilty pleasures for me.

And then to be encouraged, spurred on, even praised and rewarded for those wants and needs that are so deeply deviant... Electricity courses through my veins, bright white hot flames bathe my skin.  Such heat, such passion, that I almost don't need to be touched.  Just the faint vibration of a voice, a sigh, a moan, a breath across bare skin, can be enough to trigger waves of euphoria.  Throw a little pain into that mix, and I lose myself entirely.

The juxtaposition of humiliation and praise, of pain and pleasure, makes me feel more vibrant than anything else I've ever experienced.  So much of it defies words, though.  I've tried to figure it out, tried to explain... And always so poorly, I'm loathe to attempt such an endeavor here.

There is, of course, the taboo of it that makes it so seductive.  The "so wrong it's right" aspect.  Just like how chocolate never tastes quite as good as when you're cheating on a diet.  But there's so much more to it than that.  The connection, the intimacy with another person that transcends all the boundaries you thought you had.  And a level of trust that borders upon divine faith.  And the things so many people strive for -- acceptance and belonging.  It's more psychological than it is physical, this bizarre contradiction of relationship.  And yet, at the same time, it's something so primal, so totally animalistic, calling up an almost prehistoric nature...

Life -- raw, hot, bloody, painful, ugly, real.

Real...
           Real...
                      Real...

Real.

Is it any wonder this is the way I feel most alive?

Writing

What do you do each day that doesn't contribute to your writing.

----

Okay, so maybe this prompt is just badly worded.  I'm going to assume that it is, and answer the question I think it's asking instead.

"Why don't you write as much as you should/want to?"

I could give cop-out answers:  I'm too busy, I'm not inspired, I don't have any quiet space to do it.  But none of those would be true.  I never needed extra time set aside before.  I found it where I could, or made time.  And I've obviously found some, because I'm writing this.  Inspiration isn't so important unless there's some end result I'm going for, and there very rarely is.  And quiet space?  Hah.  I used to sit on the most crowded trains and write, no care for my surroundings or how much noise was in them.  Heck, I used to use crowded spaces as "inspiration," people watching for ideas.  So that excuse really doesn't fly.

So why don't I write more?  One word.

Fear.

Right now is a good example of that.  I find myself not really wanting to explain further.  "I've answered the question, haven't I?"  I justify to myself.  I even walked away from this exercise for 20 minutes after writing the word "fear."  I had to talk myself into coming back and doing this right.  Leaving it unexplained would rather defeat the purpose of this endeavor, after all.  So I'm going to give it a shot.

What in all hell am I afraid of?  Honestly, myself.  I am, as stupid as it may sound, afraid of who and what I think I am or might be.

See, writing has always been very personal for me.  Even when writing fiction, I'm actually writing about some facet of myself.  And for the past few years I've put an inordinate amount of energy into being who I thought I was supposed to be.  Connecting with the thoughts and feelings I have that don't support that facade... It makes it just that much harder to maintain the status quo.  So I stopped writing.  I distanced myself from those parts of myself; packed them up in a box and shoved them into the darkest corner of my mental closet that I could, only pulling them out when I was in the most desperate need for a reminder of what I was hiding from.  I've been doing it more and more lately, wondering...

I guess I convinced myself that doing this was part of growing up, of becoming an adult, like "putting childish things away."  I let people around me convince me that mothers, spouses, providers, just didn't feel like this, or want these things, or think this way.  That if they did, there was something wrong with them, that they were broken, or unfit in some way.  So I've denied myself the most important thing I can imagine -- my own mind -- and it's held me back.

Even realizing why I've tried to shut off my own thoughts and that it may have been the single worst idea on the face of the planet, I'm still afraid.  Even with the contents of that box demanding the attention I've denied them all this time, threatening to break free unbidden, I'm hesitant.  I've done so much hiding from myself.  Do I have the strength, the courage, to embrace the contents of my private Pandora's Box?

I'm coming to the conclusion that I don't have a choice about it anymore.  I cannot hide from myself.  Thinking that I could was the "childish thing" that I should have "put away."  Not the parts of me that make me who I am.

One Word

Prompted by http://www.reverb10.com/december-1/ -- And a friend who's doing the same.  Better late than never, eh?

--------

There are so many words i could use to describe 2010.  Pain, stress, confusion, loss, poverty, suffering, chaos, the list goes on.  But picking one single word to encapsulate the whole year is hard.  I think there's really only one I can think of that is wholly applicable.

Change.

Of course, everything changes, even if only in the smallest of degrees.  If it didn't, time would stop entirely and we'd be frozen, unmoving, on this spot for all of eternity.  Heck, without change "eternity" is a meaningless concept.  But that's besides the point.  Change has been abundant for me, for those around me, in even more than just the past year.

In 2009, M and I packed up everything and moved 900 miles north to Bellingham, WA.  No one thought we were insane, except my mother and his grandmother.  Everyone else understood.

I never felt like I belonged in Cali.  Never.  Not once since moving to Berkeley from NYC when I was 5-ish did I even come close to feeling like California was "home."  But neither was NY after doing the majority of my living in Cali for 25 years.  And there was very little for me left in Cali.  Everyone knew that.  They could see it just as well as I could.

WA we originally picked for financial reasons.  And then we drove up here.  And I fell in love.  It seemed an idyllic conglomeration of the NY childhood setting I'd longed for my whole life and the west coast mentality that had overwritten most of my world view.

So we came here, and life started falling into place.  Things began to run smoothly, progress was being made, I started getting better, health-wise.  Money was easier, and I was finally starting to feel content, if not happy, for the first time in... Well, ever.  Even despite still being sick.

2010 started full of promise.  I'd just been put on new medication that fixed me, almost instantly.  And I could do the things I hadn't been able to in years.  Most importantly, I could THINK again.  Unfortunately, what started as such a positive, promising, uplifting year hasn't ended up that way.  And being able to fully use my mind again has been a double edged sword.  When things started crumbling, I could see it.  I comprehended.

Too much has gone on to detail it all.  But what started out as the perfect life, just me and M in our spacious (at the time) apartment, with little to no pressure, and plenty of freedom, has been turned on it's ear.

My son moved in with us bringing a whole other person's worth of emotional and social problems with him, I've had to start a custody battle I can't afford, M's mom moved in next door and brought all her financial problems with her.  Friends have had medical crises, and family too.  My dad is going through his second divorce, and almost got himself killed in a car wreck.  Other friends have lost jobs, or worse, lost spouses to cancer.

With all this chaos going on around me, strangely the biggest changes have been inside myself.  And I'm not entirely sure what to do about them, or if I should do anything about them at all.  That key change last year of having the fog lifted from inside my head... Flipped some switches in me.

I've found parts of myself reawakened that I'd almost forgotten the existence of.  Desires refueled, lusts rekindled, needs unearthed.  And these things don't fit in to the life I've spent most of my efforts building.  At least, I don't think they do.  If they do, I have no idea how to integrate them.

So here I find myself at the beginning of another new year, 32 years old, feeling like my own skin doesn't fit.  Like a stranger in my own life, not knowing anymore how I even got here and having no clue what, or where, I'm supposed to be.

One friend of mine accused me of having a mid-life crisis a decade early.  Maybe he's right.  Maybe I've gone through so much of life trying to do "what's right" that I never really got round to considering whether or not it was what's right for me.  And I have no idea where to start in doing that, except... Something keeps coming back to me from when I was a little kid and exploring the Cali countryside.  I don't even remember who said it, but the saying has been running through my head since getting drunk to the point of catharsis last Friday night.

"Before you can figure out where you want to go, you have to find out where you are"

So, I guess that's what I'm after -- finding out where, exactly, I am.  So that I can figure out where I want to be, and how best to get there.  Trudging through life aimlessly hasn't served me well thus far.  It's time, well past time, for me to give it up.

As for what word I'd like to embody 2011 -- Direction.  I'd like to be able to look back on this year and be able to say that I've finally found my internal GPS, turned it on, and at least decided where I want to go.  If I haven't started heading there already.