The Fog Sits Heavy

Is it possible to travel thirty years in life and wake up one day and feel lost? Is it possible to one day wake up and look in the mirror and say, "Boy, you're handsome, but you also have problems?" Don't you think it's a mystery that life's a mystery? That we can ponder infinity and yet know of our own limitations? That we can relive what has passed and project ourselves into the future (with our thoughts, of course) and modify our behaviors accordingly? And as the fog sits heavy on the trees like they are leashed to one another, I realize I need a sunrise, a guiding source, of sorts. . .something to direct me in this new year.

The past year was the hardest one in a while from forward to finish. Yet it was the most rewarding as my character was developed (in part) through grueling circumstances where I was pushed beyond my known limits, to face the truth no matter how ugly. On the last night of the year as Barb and I sat on the side of the bed with our heads resting on our hands, we both agreed that it would be best to let the old year go. It had run its course, had served its purpose, pulling the hands of the clock round and round, leaving a well-worn path around our eyes. But sometimes it's hard to let go of something that's hurt you so deeply. Perhaps that's why we stay up so late on the year's last day.