Somewhere, John Irving is wincing.
The year is almost over.
I never explicitly told myself that I needed a year apart. But now that it's almost over, I find myself acutely aware that I have invested something in that artificial construct of One Year.
I expect no difference. Rarely does the world look different to a person on January 1st, or on their birthdays.
It marks only the passing of time. But it's as good a time as any to pause and look backwards, and maybe even consider how to go forward.
And, of course, to have a party to celebrate.