Whenever I read anything by Anne Lamott, I feel the need to plunk down on the couch with my laptop and write. Even when I have nothing remotely interesting to say, or what I put down totally sucks, she inspires me to keep giving it a try anyway. I think I'm secretly hoping my fingers absorbed some of her talent and hilarious honesty as they turned the pages of her books.

Over the holidays, I read Plan B and, although it was a little too Jesusy for me at times, I have an unwavering love and respect for the spirited voice dishing out the religious stuff, so I kept going. My impression is that Anne is a person who truly experiences each moment, and in doing so she has run full force into many sharp corners. As happens in life, particularly rough and devastating ones have managed to just find her too. She talks about the good and the bad without glossing over potentially unflattering details. What I admire most is her ability to translate not only the joyful, but also the grit of fear, confusion, jealousy, ugly, and the mundane, into stories that make the reader feel so alive. I wish I could tiptoe into her amazing mind and borrow a tiny speck--something to work with--of this brilliance for myself. If you haven't read anything by her, you should do so immediately.

As The Cold From Hell subsides (only a cough and scratchy voice left. A couple of friends said this makes my voice kind of sexy, while another commented that I sound like Charlie Brown. Good grief.), I've thought about my ambivalence toward the new year, as well as my detached, casual attitude toward the holidays in general. I just couldn't get in to it. While I had a great time hanging out with friends and seeing a show on New Year's Eve, I didn't feel any of the usual excitement or anticipation about the fresh start ahead. No resolutions, no nothing. I felt mildly down a couple of days beforehand, but I tend to get at least a little sad over endings. Then, when it was over, it was back to business as usual.

Over the past few days, I've spent lots of hours with really great friends. My concert buddies and I saw our best show yet, Vendetta Red. I had wanted to see them for a long time, and now I can't wait to go again. In spite of the often horrifying lyrics (which luckily you can't always hear live), the music is so good and Zach Davidson is a crazily amazing performer. I was in awe and smiling like an idiot the whole time. I saw the movie Capote, and I think it should win every award in the book. I had a leisurely, giggly breakfast with girlfriends, followed by a browse through one of my favorite bookstores. I spent an evening with another set of friends having interesting conversation, red wine, olives and mini-quiches. I curled up on the couch with a really good book, something I'd been less interested in last year for some reason, and I'm feeling the old love return.

Somewhere in the middle of these activities, I started focusing on the past year and realized it's been a weird one for me (as well as the world). A lot changed, but a lot didn't. I think that may have contributed to my detachment from the holidays. There was a disconnect between what I thought would happen and what actually happened. Maybe in the back of my mind I expected something monumental because I'm 28, and that number has had significance for me over the years. Another birthday is approaching and soon 28 will be gone. I'm not sure how I feel about that. It's not that I'm worried about getting older (yet), and I'm happier in many ways than I've been in a long time, but I think it's because so much in my life is still so uncertain. I'm an impatient person and that does not always sit well.

This year was a lot more about subtler, internal shifts, rather than major happenings in my external world. Even if things like my job, how I live, and my relationship status remain unchanged at this point, I can't discount everything else going on. A big step for me was finally allowing myself to release many negative attachments and accept difficult changes--always a struggle --making lots of sparkling room in my mind for new thoughts and ideas. In doing that I've also discovered what it's like to feel real peace about situations/people/circumstances that once were a source of hurt or, worse yet, disappointment. I'm learning to distinguish when the little voice in my head has useful information to share about my life and when it's just being plain mean.

I'm learning to open myself up to possibilities and taking risks. I very much want to get better at that. I'm starting to really grasp who I am as I continue to move toward living in alignment with what I truly do and do not want—surprisingly difficult to face at times. I'm improving at dwelling in the moment, rather than spending too much time in the past or future. I've met interesting people and had crushes on very cute boys. I moved to a better apartment and got a new car. I traveled to some of my favorite places and spent time with my favorite people. I laughed a lot. I participated in the arrival of my nephew--a cherished memory--and love every moment I have with him. I've had difficult conversations that really needed to happen and realized how freeing that can be for all involved. I've learned to choose my battles a little more carefully. I understand more and more that it's okay not to have all the answers when I want them, even if it is uncomfortable. I'm working on becoming okay with the squirmy unease of showing and accepting my many imperfections.

In considering all this, I'm starting to feel a little bit more excited about seeing what happens in 2006. Bring on 29!