It was the year of learning.
It was the year of explosions, outward and inward – in the city I loved and the homes I thought I knew, in the culture of acceptance and the name of liberty, in political wars and social embattlements.
It was the year Miley Cyrus stole everyone’s thunder, but Madonna still made the most money.
It was the year I learned, from the wisdom of friends old and new, that being unhappy is quite different from being depressed.
It was the year I learned too that when the people who love you the most try to help without listening, it usually ends up hurting. (And a year in which I wondered why so many things done in the name of love result in the name of the opposite.)
It was the year I longed to be so many places other than where I was at any given time.
It was the year I learned to escape.
It was the year where renovation was begun for both the soul and the kitchen.
It was the year I learned how to cook.
It was the year Tom Daley surpassed David Beckham and Ben Cohen in hotness.
It was the year I had to pretend I was wrong to prove that I was right. (But in all fairness that’s every fucking year.)
It was the last year I do the above.
It was the year I almost started to doubt myself, but almost learned to let it go instead.
It was the year this website had 17 million hits in a single month – topping out at 2 million on one otherwise-lackluster day.
It was the year I finally understood that a stranger 3000 miles away could understand me better than some of the people I’ve known for 30 years.
It was the year of transition. And it isn’t over yet.
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