New Year/Decade

January 1, 2010

Artificial milestone that it may be, it is a milestone which tradition marks out for reflection.

Every decade is strange, I find, and this one was no exception. I certainly would not have remotely predicted my course (living in England?!).

It’s strange seeing the techno-changes. I don’t live quite on the bleeding edge but I have been involved with some things before they got popular (blogging and micro-blogging come to mind) and then missed what positional opportunities were there. That’s not necessarily a bad things…it’s just a thing. I’m often rather conservative about adding new tech to my life. I finally joined Facebook but that was to follow Zoe’s album title discussion. I rather enjoy it now for the family and friends contact. It’s all online stuff which I’ve done for decades now. The key for me is finding where the people I want to talk with are, not the particular form of tech. I miss having a mailing list home. Mailing lists seem to be dying a bit. The Squeak list was a home for a long time. The Semantic Web ones at the W3C are not really for me anymore.

I’ve been commenting a bit over at various ScienceBlogs. Tracking comments are a PITA though. I suppose I’ll get driven into Twitter, if only because of the apparent broad conversations occurring there. Annoying though it may be.

This…THIS…is the decade I get organized! For real this time!

I’m hoping writing gets easier. I hope a lot of things get easier. We’ll see.

At moments like this I think of one of my favorite poems, “Song“, by Adrienne Rich. I love it all, but especially the last verse:

If I’m lonely
it’s with the rowboat ice-fast on the shore
in the last red light of the year
that knows what it is, that knows it’s neither
ice nor mud nor winter light
but wood, with a gift for burning.

“A gift for burning” is the title of a novel I started long ago when I still thought to write fiction.

Maybe I’ll find out what I am, this year, this decade. Ash? Ice? Winter light? Mud, even?

I still hope, without hope but with measured desperation, that I’m wood.

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