XXXVIII

Today marks the auspicious start of my thirty-eighth year. If I sound self-assured and confident, it's because I am. I have no resolutions, no bucket list, no promises to fulfill, but one: live it.

My worst fears were recognized as 2011 raced in, and as I struggled to make rhyme or reason of it all, my greatest mistake was recognized: I had stopped living and began the mundane practice of existing.

As my 37th year passes out with the stale summer wind, and the promise of a new year's revolution lies before me, I acknowledge where I went astray and mark that place in my journey as one I never intend to revisit. It was a place of futility and great angst, one of pain and shame and sadness, one of misgivings and mis-forgivings, one of self-deprecation and self-flagellation, versus self-preservation. I assume we've all been there before- like the undertaking of laboring in love or childbirth, it is the final chapter in our old lives which inevitably shapes the next story, a fresh page in herstory.

My fresh page begins here, just 11 days past my 3rd blogoversary, with a dissolved marriage just behind me, a debilitating emotional illness under aggressive treatment, a new love, a fresh promise and a birthday cake baked by my sweet Yael Rose. Life is indeed good. And, getting settled back into my writing chair is even better. I've missed you all, thanks for your continued readership and all of the messages of love and support during some of the more trying pages of my last chapter.

Peace, love and joy