I grant that there is a version of the truth in which the end of December saw me quite crushed, and that there was a reprise of said devastation to ring in the new year.
Similarly, I could state honestly that the heft of those circumstances tugs at various points of my physiology throughout the day.
But what I'd rather talk about is the lightness that seeps from my bones, that gives a spring to my step even now, the sense of good things to come.
It doesn't so much matter what I have lost or why. If I am to be the storyteller, I want to give my words to remember those solid things that remain. And there are so many of them.
To that end, I should like to dedicate this year to restoration and construction. To love, thankfulness, and the pursuit of happiness.
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