cosas

Everyone hated 2009, right? I didn’t. I think it was my best year in many. Here’s why:

I thought I loved my co-workers in midtown, then transferred to Brooklyn. I miss very few, and love everyone I’ve met through this store with a fierceness I couldn’t have expected. They’re amazing. Finished school. Finished school. Finished school. Thought about, decided upon, made progress toward beginning a career path. Trial by stuffing envelopes: realized the dull parts of intern life come with the territory, overcame, more grateful than ever to be at my organization.

I made the most compelling photographs of my life, and didn’t touch a roll of film for the remainder of the year. It wasn’t necessary. I couldn’t. I fell in love with more new music than I had in years, and went to fewer shows. I loved my commutes and walks up the Slope. And the Slope: going on two years, and I’m not nearly over it. The neighborhood love hasn’t plateaued. I’m even two months into working (2.75 hours every four weeks) for my .88/lb pears (haters can hate, etc.). Then, for a fleeting time, I let myself fall for someone (rather than the previous standard: trying to convince myself I could fall for someone). The aftermath is quite a story (and has become even more so of late), but ultimately positive: I can let this happen. It can happen again. He’s not worth it, specifically, but the idea’s there.

I let myself make mistakes this year, and regret absolutely none. I only regret the few times I didn’t follow through. I don’t believe in the idea of starting anew in January (June was when my 2009 really got going, and that amazing July week in Lake Brant was a turning point), but the memory of last year’s perfect New Year’s Day makes me anxious for this week to be over. A resolution, ready to share at brunch: follow one recipe exactly every week (so that I—a good but complacent cook—may become a great cook). There will be more: remind me around June.