This year has passed so quickly - it's already the last six weeks before the next year begins. Already I feel the year looming ahead, rising like mist after the rain. It's full of potential, like all unused things - a fresh sheet of paper, a new pair of shoes, the beginning part of a relationship - it has that special magic. A promise, perhaps, of something good on the horizon.
It's naive and cliched perhaps, especially when all nice, clean new things eventually get stained and dirty with use. Mistakes are made, and cannot be erased.
Perhaps it's tempting fate to say this, but I don't think I made too many mistakes (edit: I mean major mistakes, the kind that make you go 'What was I thinking?' when you think back on them. Not the making-funny-faces-in-lift-mirrors-when-the-door-opens sort) this year. I think I was spending to much time dwelling on the mistakes of the past, trying to recoup my losses, I suppose.
In the last leg of this transitory phase, before I leave on my jet plane, I want to experience something I've never experienced before. Too bad it's too late to plan something like climbing a mountain or something.
Maybe next year.
A chronicle of nose growth
'...changing the form of one's mission's almost as difficult as changing the shape of one's nose:
they are, each, in the middle of one's face and one's character - one has to begin too far back.'
― Henry James. The Portrait of a Lady.
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