Many people have been reflecting on the passing year. I’ve been thinking about the last few years. There is no big divider of chapters in my life. Most likely, my life changes can be mapped by each February. One event leads into another. There are actions and consequences.
Twenty-ten was a high point I was in College. Starcraft Two came out. God was there in a big way. The funny thing about that, god is as big a part as you let him but things are still on you. I was at the center of drama and had what I thought was an amazing girlfriend. I was happy on top of a shaky and dangerous set of problems.
Twenty-eleven sucked. It was the first year controversially outside of college. It started out with deception and distracting uncertainties but went into a tailspin with a heartache that would echo for months. I didn’t sleep. I ate rarely. I couldn’t focus to do on anything that required thought and concentration. The only video games I could play were loud and twitch-based. I tried a lot of things poorly with shot focus and the kind of blind disparity. All decisions were postponed and decided at the last moments with flippancy.
There were some good things that came out of twenty-eleven. The vlogbrothers. I started getting into the youtube communities. John and Hank Green were two adult nerds who communicated across the country. I found a friend in the confusion and she was instrumental in my trails of skills and wading through verbal bial. I started reading as best I could. First, the Catcher and the Rye and The Great Gatsby. Two good books for feeling sour and hopeless. I started writing. I wrote a lot. I got through it like Bilbo; I cheated. I fumbled responsibility. I happened to have enough money to cover my meager expenses. Then, I got lucky.
Twenty-twelve was a year of learning. The funny thing about never sleeping is your mental capacities fall apart. Coming into sobering thought, I was able to better process my surroundings and the previous year. Many lessons from twenty-eleven were not taken to heart until twenty-twelve. My writing from that year is melancholy and directionless. I have learned little tricks that keep me productive and to change my mood from morose to productive.
I was able to read a lot more. I’ve learned all the grammar I slept through in high school. A cool trick, if you are unsure about the proper use of something, use it in a divisive youtube comment. Someone will correct you.
I moved three hours into a new city. I have been failing to explore it for months now. I did my taxes on my own. As I understand it, that is a downhill process from this point. I live in a house and am surrounded by good friends that have passion to make things. I feel like I have a ridiculous amount of books. I wake up and feel good. I go to work and know I will have a goal when I get home.
Twenty-twelve was a fantastic year. The best thing about it, it won’t end. It doesn’t cross from positive to negative. Events flow into one another. I don’t have any resolutions because I have the groundwork for persistence.