If you’re related to me, you know that my mom writes a Christmas letter every year–sometimes humorous, sometimes poignant, always succinct. Well, I’m an adult(ish) now, and merely a footnote on my mom’s letter because retirement is far more interesting than being a boring 30-something. I’m too lazy to send out Christmas cards to everyone I know, so I’m putting my personal Christmas letter out in a public forum instead.
When I think back on the year, I think about the once-in-a-lifetime experiences I had.
I saw (in person) Duke lose in the NCAA Tournament. As a #3 seed.
I touched Woolly Mammoth fur.
He suggested we do “super serious face.”
I touched a hobbit. (And I didn’t shriek “Hobbitses!” at him, thank you very much. There was a definite risk of that happening.) Later that day I also accosted James Dashner in the street and gave him a hug. That was a good day.
I finished writing and editing a novel. And I wrote the first draft of a second novel. Keep your fingers crossed for me that I have news to share about the former in 2015.
But to be honest, mostly I mired in the tedium of being a gainfully employed adult with a 9-to-5 job. I’ve tried to reconcile that this is just how life goes, but I’ve failed at that reconciliation. Honestly, I’m glad I’ve failed.
When I think about holidays, I think of my family. I loved holidays as a kid. I still love them as an adult, because the only time I get to spend with my nuclear family is around Christmas. Though this year I did spend Selection Sunday with my parents, and that counts as a holiday for me.
I saw my mom and dad again over the 4th of July weekend. My mom and I went to see the fireworks in my hometown. There’s nothing like the 4th of July in a small town. Washington DC can keep its spectacular display of canned patriotism. I’ll take my one-firework-at-a-time and the oohing and aahing of families spread out on blankets on the grass in Commons Park any day.