It's been awhile, in case you haven't noticed. (Oh, I could dazzle you with a million reasons why including my very strong resistance to being even remotely methodical, something you kind of need to be if you're going to call yourself a blogger. So, ok, let's agree - I'm not a blogger.)
As the year ends, I was seeking a soundbyte of wisdom I might pass on gleaned from 365 days of real life involving clients, kids, my so-called writing life, my small bits at trying to make a difference somehow, and my unrealized gameplan to eat mostly plants, like Michael Pollan told us to, and reject anything with preservatives in it. Confession: I have slept peacefully on more than one night knowing I had 481 unopened e-mails napping on a server somewhere. So where was this wisdom going to come from?
And then a week or so back I came upon this funky snowchick in Central Park and I felt myself snickering at the universe. And the snicker led to something like a prayer: May we all follow the impulse to create in the new year. Whether our work is tromped on, overlooked or melts in the heat of day, the hand that maketh the snowman is true. (And not the least of it - after the snowman is done with, there's hot chocolate.)
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