And nothing changes but the calendar.
I will most likely begin the new decade in the exact same spot that I end the old one, undoubtedly doing in the new year what it was I did in the the last—the safe money is on drinking something with the aftertaste of regret.
The year changes. The decade rolls over. Those that left us are still gone and those that are leaving will still leave. Debts will still haunt us and life will still taunt us and the laugh of my children will still make me melt.
The aughts are for naught and all is for the better—or so we are told to believe. They brought me my highest highs and my lowest lows and all of the life in between. I owe everything to them and they have taken enough in return. I can only hope that we are even.
The decade was a moveable feast and 2009 was the dropping of the bill, gratuity included.
2010 is a tease for the now. It promises promise and good things to come. I want to believe. I want to let the theory of a fresh start heal old wounds and move me, my family, my friends, my country and this mad, mad world towards new heights and clean slates. We’ve fallen divided for long enough. I want us to stand.
And nothing changes but the calendar, unless we want it bad enough.
Originally published on WhitHonea
