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Better
Than The Last
I know it's just a Wednesday
like every other Wednesday,
which is to say that it's
really nothing more than a
randomly chosen collection
of 24 concurrent hours out
of the 8,765 hours, 48 minutes
and 46 seconds it takes the
earth to orbit the sun lumped
together with other 24 hour
units into a recurring cycles
of seven by the Mesopotamians
and arbitrarily assigned the
name of Wednesday after some
god called Woden who, incidentally,
happened to be the father
of Thor. But this particular
Wednesday is January 1 which,
although no more significant
than any other point on the
continuum of time, has the
symbolic significance of being
the first day of a new year.
Yes,
January 1st - a chance to
start again, to leave the
old year behind. It's traditionally
a time for reflection, a time
to refocus on the goals and
objectives of last January
that slipped away somewhere
during the excitement of spring,
the oppressive heat of the
summer, or the melancholy
of the fall.
I'd
be lying if I said that there
wasn't a huge part of me grateful
for the fact that 2002 is
over. In thirty-some-odd years
on this planet, 2002 definitely
ranks as one of my worst.
Well, not as bad as the high
school years where I was a
geeky, fat, acne-laden kid
with bad hair and an affinity
for cowboy shirts with faux
pearl snaps instead of buttons.
But still, it was close.
Don't
get me wrong - personally
it was one of the best years
I've ever had. I got married,
had an unforgettable week
in Disneyworld with my daughter
and wife, met Carlos Santana
at the Grammys, hiked in Joshua
Tree National Forest, established
relationships with some amazingly
inspirational songwriters
and musicians, talked to Jimmy
Buffett on the phone, met
an amazing bunch of Parrotheads
from all over the country,
spent a weekend in Key West
with my close friends, and
generally had multitudes of
the kinds of experiences that
you nostalgically smile over
when you're older.
Professionally,
however, it was a disaster.
Some combination of a bad
economy and an uncooperative
voice lead to minimal income,
and the additional burden
of financial stress coupled
with not knowing when I would
be able to sing for a living
again only bred more self-doubt
and depression. And financial
woes aside, it's impossible
to describe the frustration
that comes with not being
able to perform, the very
thing I love the most.
But
January 1st marks the beginning
of a new year, a chance to
leave the burdens of the old
year behind. And as my year
fades out to the winsome refrains
of the Counting Crows I'm
grateful for any kind of a
place to call a new beginning,
artificial or not. Sometimes
it's these sorts of man-made
bookmarks that give us the
faith and the courage to renew
our individual battles.
"It's
been a long December,"
Adam Duritz laments in my
headphones, "and there's
reason to believe maybe this
year will be better than the
last...."
Indeed.
This
column © 2002 Lee Totten.
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