Wishing you all the merries and happies of the season: may all your Christmases be whatever you wish them to be, and may your 2020s be pure awesome.
2019 is now rolling out. On a personal note, I have to thank it for being, so far, a year of fun: hiking (Snowdonia, Lakes), sailing, wild swimming, running (Eden half), and new career opportunities. If 2018 was characterised by trauma, then 2019 was characterised by recovery and work.
Now we enter the limbo between Christmas and New Year: a period of rumination, especially in post-election, pre-Brexit Britain. This year brings questions of identity: where do I place on the political spectrum and where is my country in the world? I pour Irish cream into my coffee and stare at the steam. 2020’s approach fires a fresh determination to own it; to touch the world in small, persistent ways. Raindrops destroy rocks.
We’re living in a time when people will look back and ask, ‘What did you do?’ (Perhaps every time is like that; someone should tell us? Perhaps they do.) I’m not sure how to do it yet, but this year I’ll commit to trying to make some sort of positive difference.
But first, this week, some fiction (to read), more fiction (to write), family to curl up with, and a dog to walk. For that and everything else, thank you, 2019.