Goodbye 2009, and good riddance


Years ago, Mom, Eric and I went to Curaçao on vacation. We went to see the eclipse that was crossing the island, with Aruba being just too darn expensive. The eclipse following desire was the inspiration for my trip to Peru in '94. I can tell you, if you want to travel the world, go see eclipses. You'll end up in amazing places along the way.

I had brought along my spiffy new clarinet, as I was teaching myself how to play (a feat that surprised and impressed Eric, that someone could pick up a musical instrument on one day and be able to play a number of tunes on it fairly well a week or so later, having never played a reed instrument before). I spent a number of hours by myself, making sure Mom and Eric had time to be alone without the third wheel known as Kitt. I spent the time by myself, but I needed that time to think, away from life, away from distractions, away from work, to just think. I'd sprint on the beach, play my clarinet, and think.

Aside from the wind and lack of fresh milk, it was a good place to be to think.

Mom and Eric were more adventurous than I was, but I'd still head out with them to various ports or museums or other adventures. A wind-swept island with little vegetation doesn't offer much in the way of lush hikes, but some adventures could be found.

On our way to one adventure, we drove along a dusty, yes, wind-swept road, following the gentle rolling of the terrain. Where the ground was low, lush trees and bushes grew, away from the wind. Where the ground was high, the land was barren, as the ocean breezes kept anything from staying in one place long enough to set roots and stay.

Along one of these small hills with no vegatation was a house. Surrounding the house was a large number of cars in various states of disrepair. They were all older cars, seemingly waiting to be fixed up, rather than just providing parts for other cars. I tapped Mom on her shoulder, and pointed them out as we drove past.

"Each one of those is a Someday," I told her.

Those cars represented a Someday for the owner. Some day, he was going to get to them. Some day, he was going to fix them up. Some day, he was going to have that car to drive. Some day. Some day. Some day.

We all have our Somedays, that one wish, that one dream, that one goal we want to accomplish. Some of us have many more than one. Some of them linger a short while before disappearing. Some linger for a lifetime, never quite arriving.

A large number of my friends are selecting a word to define the new year (admittedly, some of those non-internet friends are doing them at my suggestion). I like the idea a lot, but instead of a single word, I am choosing a full sentence to define 2010 for me.

Someday is today.

Life is way, way, way too short. The end can come unexpectedly way too soon. I can't bear to arrive at the end and think, "But, but, some day I was going to ..." Someday has to be today, or it will never be.

Someday has arrived, and it is 2010.


This is a theme found in _The Corrections_ by Jonathan Franzen.

"Some day . . . some day, I'll fix up that old chair". Or was it a sofa? I think the sooner we (human philosophizing here) realize we need to stop waiting around for the *someday* to arrive, we can truly transition. You're not the only one saying "good riddance" to this decade. :) I'm looking forward to the era again, of ones and zeroes.