My husband is a dyed-in-the-wool downhill skier from as far back as he can remember. I like downhill too, but I love cross-country skiing. I think I love peace more than speed and adrenaline, now that I'm older. That's the difference.
There is something particularly striking about being back out in my back yard on skis. My first post of 2010 was "off and skiing," and I remember it well. Here I am, come almost full circle. That is one of the more reassuring parts of coming to the end of this blog project. There is really no "end." I am back where I began, back at a new place of potential beginning.
The selection of Jan. 1, in the middle of winter, is just an arbitrary day in the cycle of the solar year, a cycle which will carry on far beyond human days (or else end along with human days). For the purposes of measurement during our lifetimes, and some historical perspective for those who are around, it's a useful construct. But it is a kind of illusion of momentousness that is only in our heads.
The solar year, the lunar year, biological life cycles, the rotations of galaxies - round and round and round she goes.
When we're born, we just step into the circular stream for our round.
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