A Virgin For One Year

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.