It's been such a hectic two weeks, and I've had to cram my self-reflection into little odd moments, here and there. You know—what came of 2010? What are my hopes for 2011?
I'd meant to have some long (no doubt eloquent) post on all that—but odd moments force succinctness.
2010.
I'd hoped for better. It wasn't a complete failure at all—I actually wrote more in 2010 than I have written in the previous five years combined. Wait—maybe that calls for a woo-hoo.
Woo-hoo!!!!
But...
I didn't complete anything. I have nothing that I could (without embarrassment) hand to someone and say, “Read!” As I told a friend, I feel like I've been pregnant for twenty years—I'm ready to give birth to some of the thousand stories that are growing and multiplying inside me. I'm ready to actually see them as their own little entities, outside of me.
Which leads me to...
2011.
I've been reading about others coming up with a single word with which to charge the year—and in the past I've resisted doing the same. But during our little break in West Virginia, I told Mark about how I'd been feeling, and we tossed around a few words.
“Perseverance,” Mark offered.
No, too harsh, too clinical.
“Productive,” he suggested.
No, too masculine, too determined.
“Fruitful?”
Ah, yes, fruitful...I rolled it around on my tongue and in my mind. Evocative of Mother Earth and all things female.
Fruitful.
Natural, flowing, growing, being.
2011.
Fruitful.
