Though I'm not one to regret, I am a little sorry to see 2010 go. I can think of no other year in my life that is more fairytale-esque than 2010. A dreamlike montage of memories rolls from January through tonight complete with special effects fog and an orchestral sound track. It all seems too good, and too beautiful, to be true.
Up until now, I've been more or less quietly creating who I am. The subterranean me has been forming and fermenting while my primary tasks in life have been about performing roles that are created by who I am in relation to others. The view by which I've been seeing the world has been more behind-the-lens than it has been in-front-of-the-camera. Even I defined myself more by my relationships than by my own identity! I am a daughter; a sister; a student; a friend; a wife; a mother.
This year, however, was a virtual cocoon from which the person I am all by myself has emerged. I am feeling amazed because 2010 represents a kind of an unveiling, or a coming-out ball, as if the interior me has only now been presented to the outside world. What has happened has much less to do with the roles I have played than who I am deep inside. To become an author, one must allow thoughts and feelings burble up from the mind and soul. Evidence of who one is appears on the printed page. It's a bit risky, all that exposing of one's self, but the calling to write is one that cannot be denied.
It feels a little weird to be not just someone else's somebody. I'm not just a mother of six any more. I'm not just somebody's wife, or friend, or sister. I'm an author.
But it also feels very good. And so, as I stand back and observe the butterfly that emerged from the cocoon that is this past calendar year, I'm okay with the colors, the wingspan, and the flight of that new creature.
Thank you for journeying along with me. I couldn't have arrived here without you. I wouldn't have wanted to.