Surrender

Late last night I stripped the sheets off my bed to change them. I hadn’t taken my shower and there were dishes in the sink from the day. The radiator heated up the room past the point of comfort and suddenly, such an intense wave of sleepiness came over me that I decided to forget about the dishes and the shower, even about putting sheets on the bed. I took off my clothes, opened the windows wide, and in a matter of minutes I had fallen asleep on the bed, just like that.

My body was cold when I opened my eyes at 5:48 a.m., I grabbed a sweatshirt, got back in bed, contemplated my life for an hour then fell back asleep.

2006 has been a year of transition and awakening. It’s been the best year of my life and with the exception of 1996, it’s also been the worst year of my life. I’ve laughed more this year than I ever have, I’ve cried more than I ever have, and with the arrival of its end I can feel that something in me has changed. Not just the obvious changes from an entire year of change, but a change that has taken place in the last two weeks, the last two days, and in the minute I lay down naked on a sheetless bed with the windows open and winter pouring in.

2006 has been a year of upheaval and confusion, and much of the time I have felt that I wasn’t holding the wheel, had no say in what road to take or where I was going.

In these last few days of 2006 I am still and uncertain. For the first time in years I have no idea what my next job will be, what the next season will bring, who will be the next person I share coffee with. It’s the first time, when I look forward, I can’t really see anything.

Maybe I’ve let go of the wheel and dropped the map, maybe I won’t decide on a road or a destination. At least not today, the very last day of the most important year of my life.