Year the Twenty-Sixth

I am now officially one year older today than I was precisely 365 days ago, as we all are, every day. But exactly 26 years ago (or 9,490 days ago!), on a chilly Saturday evening, after 24+ hours of labor, my tiny, fiery, passionate mother gave birth to her Problem Child, with my talented, devoted, intelligent father by her side. The three of us became a Family.

Looking back, I would have to say that Year 25 was probably one of the best and most novel intervals of my entire living career. Of course, there were the routine activities that make up each day, but there were also vast and drastic changes and new experiences. 25 was the first year in my memory that I haven't spent in school. It was also the first year in many that I've felt real freedom to be la fille aux cheveux de lin. Or, if I fell short of being, the freedom to openly and enthusiastically strive in that general direction.

I made it through grad school at the top of my class, began a career, moved into a fantastic quirky apartment downtown, started paying all of my (not insignificant) bills all at once, made the acquaintance of a certain special orange-striped being, and started living alone. I've always been very close to my sisters, and in the past year, I've seen one move out-of-state to become an engineer, and helped the youngest continue to survive her undergrad years. I discovered dancing, rediscovered music, reestablished important friendships, established new ones, and I'm just happy. Maybe even shiawase happy. The Japanese have a handful of words for happiness, but shiawase happiness is lasting, deep, and quietly joyful in its longevity - not bright and flaring and fleeting.

Maybe.

And, on this very day exactly 1 year ago, I told a certain red-headed dancer that I'd love to go get ice cream with him after our Conflict Management class. I was wearing overalls and a kelly green American Eagle shirt, and it was warm and cloudy. We didn't get ice cream, neither of us being dessert people, but we did get Mexican.

The pit that marked the end of Year 24 has been left behind. Now I'm finally on my way to the summit of the neighboring mountain - a summit obscured by clouds, but that very obscurity is fascinating in its potential. I can't see the top! How far do I have to go? How far can I go? Am I content to set up my camp here and explore the landscape at this altitude for awhile, or do I need to ascend to a new environment? Come with me!

Yes, I'm talking to you.

Here's to Year 26! Konpai!