2013 was an interesting year. Exciting and bittersweet.
I transferred to a new position at work in 2013, which was a promotion and a raise. I think the executives trust me with morale-related tasks. Its a nice feeling.
I met a lot of great new people in 2013, simply by biting the bullet and striking up conversations with random strangers. I spent New Years Eve with two new friends who didn't know each other until I introduced them. So we're all new friends to each other. I realize that (a) you seriously can't judge a book by it's cover, (b) you can trust a real friend with your darkest secrets, and (c) a real friend will see beyond the topical.
2013 also brought new perspectives on intimate relationships. Specifically, that I'll never find anyone like my father. Because men simply aren't made that way anymore. They crumble with the weight of it.
I finally get that I'm not over being abandoned while overseas and dealing with my family during the quake.
I learned that acts of kindness aren't truly "selfless" unless you perform them without the intent of watching them play out. You can give money to the homeless, or buy presents for families, but waiting for the homeless person's reaction, or throwing a big party for the families, watching them open their presents...I realize now that it's a sort of selfish need for gratitude. If you truly want to give, do it even when you won't be there for the "thank you".
My grandmother's
death felt like a ton of bricks being dumped on my head. I'd become so close to her after she came to live with me after the quake. She became my priority in all things. She was my reason for waking up so early, for learning to shop for groceries on a budget, for reading nutritional value labels, for rushing home after work, for learning about proper medical care and prescription coverage, for treating doctors like medical students instead of gods, for finding honor in placing someone else's life before mine, for putting my job in its proper perspective.
I still can't stay in her room for longer than a moment or two. Around this time last year, she was doing something to make me
laugh. I bought a metal filing cabinet to hold important things like photos, deeds, medical stuff, and anything of hers. It sits at the window in her room. I go in, file away the bills, and always (like an idiot) turn to face the bed, and run out crying, remembering that I could've done more. There's always more.
I read over my
resolutions from last year, and they read like pompous bullshit. I don't know what brand of crack I was on then, but it would take a village to accomplish those things. I'll never live up to those challenges. At least, not in the span of 365 days. The things I want will take a lifetime to attain.
So as I look out at the huge snowflakes falling on the side from the kitchen window of our big empty house, I recognize the humility of my regret, I appreciate and all my imperfections, I timidly consider my hopeful expectations for the new year, and acknowledge my everlasting need to be better.
