In the beginning of 2010, Ross and I were surrounded by an embarrassment of truly wonderful friends and family. Never in my life have I felt so blessed by the people around me. What's more, we had the world at our feet: we were waiting to hear back from grad school, Ross was satisfied with his job (and I, of course, can't ever fully describe how much I loved mine), and we lived in Shangrila (if Shangrila has no parking, which I suspect it doesn't). 2010 stretched out before us, full of mystery and opportunity and the promise of a good time had by all. 2011 seems a little less sparkly in comparison. A little predetermined. A little lonely. It's not that I'm not looking forward to my classes, to Ross' continued increase in job satisfaction, or to the as-yet-unforeseen surprises of the New Year. I am. It's just... it's just (this was all much more eloquent in my head, before I sat down to write)... it's just that I miss you, I guess. We miss you. Zeta Chi and Annette and Christian and Donilee and Jessi and the aunts and the vast Dewey clan and Tanna and Ben and everyone else in Portland whom we love. My Dad and family in Northern California, Mom and Mark in Silverton, the Southern California contingent, and everyone in Utah. Washougal. Chicago.
I'm not good at saying good-byes. So many people have come and gone (and often painfully) in my life that I tend to steel myself against farewells, not truly feeling them sometimes for days or weeks or months. But eventually, inevitably, the brutal realization of how much I miss you (all of you) penetrates my defenses. And it hurts like hell. So (to try to put a positive spin on this Debbie Downer of a post), my New Year's message to you is this: know that you are missed, know that you are loved, and that my wish for the New Year is that is has you in it.