It’s a new year.

Normally, I don’t pay much attention to the passing of a year, more than send out a little hope and a prayer that the next one will be a good one.

But this year, I heeded the passing a little more than usual.

I didn’t do anything particularly special – we went to our good friends house and had southern food (biscuits, gravy, black eyed peas and collards! – traditional good luck foods in the south) then played Super Mario Bros Wii, and mercilessly mocked the teeny hoppers on New years Rockin Eve.

But the years passing could palpably be felt. If only because, where so many others claimed to have had a tough, miserable year, I had the best year of my life.

I swam all summer. I made my own beer. I crafted up a storm. I saw my friends on a regular basis. I made new friends. I hung out with my lovely family. I partied. I threw parties. I wore cute oufits. I grew my hair long. Liam learned to make delicious homemade bread. I went to the opera…

I got married!

I went to Paris!

It’s not like we didn’t have any problems, any hardships to bear. Liam did lose his job, afterall.

But somehow, we were able to overcome it all this year in ways both simple and small, and huge and overwhelming.

And I felt last years passing with trepidation. Worry that this new year can’t possibly be as wonderful as the last one.