reverb 10 - part 1

reverb10 is a series of prompts (technically to be done each day in december of last year) to reflect on 2010. I'm a little behind :) but I'd still like to do it, especially since I haven't set aside much time to think about the last year and the coming one.

prompt 1 - one word. encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you?

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each year I choose a word for the year as a goal, a focus, rather than a resolution, so this prompt fits nicely :) the word I chose for 2010 was joy, and in retrospect, it is the word I would choose to describe the year. I met and dated the love of my life. I learned so many things about myself. I removed a lot of misconceptions and embraced a lot more truths. and all of this brought me deep joy.

I've had a hard time choosing a word for 2011, though. I'm not sure what I want to focus on - there seem to be so many things that need addressing. but the word I choose for this year is patience. patience with being away from andy for another half of a year. patience with people who misunderstand me. patience with myself, most of all. and I hope, at the end of it all, that patience leads to a 2011 of growth, courage, deeper trust and commitment, and trimming back everything to the most essential - to taking care of myself and building back up.

prompt 2 - writing. what do you do each day that doesn't contribute to your writing - and can you eliminate it?

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I don't write - that's the problem. I get all kinds of ideas that I jot down, but I don't ever give myself the go-ahead to develop them, to actually let things flow out of me to create a story. I won't have time to write every day, but I want to give myself once a week where I have to sit and write for 20 minutes straight. it doesn't have to be anything good. it just has to be.

prompt 3 - moment. pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year. describe it in vivid detail (texture, smells, voices, noises, colors).

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the wind is swift and boisterous, unlike the water, which is very simply alive, patient, routinely churned by the motors of the ferry. the night air of the sound is brisk, an intimate third party to this moment, rushing in and over and around us both, swirling through my dress, and my hair, and into my eyes as I look back over the water. it is lit up by the moon in a glorious pathway of choppy little waves back to the lights of seattle. looking at the city across the expanse of dark is like watching someone that you can no longer see as you drive away. he is tall and warm next to me, and he holds me tight, my head against his chest, the texture of wool comforting on my cheek. it isn't cold, his body breaking the wind around us as we both look back across the sound. the light spills out from the ferry behind us, stretching toward our ankles, reaching out to us in the dark, but it can't touch us. everything is crisp. everything is right.