It’s 4.24 am as I begin this entry. I’m sitting in the Ontario (California; you have no idea how many times I’ve been asked for my passport when trying to fly here) airport, availing myself of the free wi-fi, feeling mighty blessed, the hour notwithstanding. Back in January, after the ritual end-of-year counting of blessings, I listed my fondest hopes for the new year. Chiefest among those hopes was getting R. home from London, and keeping him with me for a while.
With a few interruptions, I managed to do that. Until this morning. Today, as I sit in the airport waiting to fly to Vermont for a workshop, he’s tooling up the 15, headed on his own coast-hopping adventure. For a year.
Given the almost-year we had together, though, I can’t complain much. My stress level has been awfully high for much of it, but the joy of having him around made it all bearable.
My blessings extend beyond that, however; I’d hoped, in January, to put the old project to bed this year, and while that outcome is hardly written in stone as yet, I feel somewhat safe in acknowledging that the manuscript is, once again, with outside readers, and that the editor I’m working with is an absolute dream, willing to take a chance on something that seems a little weird. Which is all I’ve ever hoped for.
I’ve also managed to find clarity on my new projects, and though it’s been impossible to get anything done on them of late, I’ve got the possibility of an imminent leave to keep me focused and calm.
As I said in January, though, my most important hope was “to find myself, this time next year, in a world substantively more peaceful, and in a country substantively more compassionate, than the one I find myself in today.” For that, I’m still hopeful, and hope that you are, too. In a year in which the Red Sox can pull it off, I think the rest of us stand a pretty good chance.