Thirty Things bid farewell.

I have not done all of my 30 Things.

Not the way I promised, anyway.

I did not go on the computer [except for work] for days and days, but that’s not the same as unplugged.

I have almost entirely altered my diet, but not in the way I originally envisioned.

I have complimented all sorts of people for all sorts of things, but as I said before, not in the way I intended.

I decided to skip the sailing lessons until another year — Bean and I are hoping to learn together, possibly on a long postponed honeymoon. Almost definitely on an old fashioned and gleaming schooner with burnished brass and beautiful seafood. Worth the wait? I think so.

And I have not read 11 books about which I have always been curious.

This is a particular surprise perhaps. It’s not as if I haven’t read 11 books. Possibly ten times that many. But I have read books that randomly and serendipitously fell across my path. I have devoured long forgotten books I loved. I have revisited books I didn’t fully understand in my youth. I have read several cookbooks cover to cover. The art of food writing fascinates me. But still. This is not the 11 books I dreamt of and so the list remains.

Perhaps I am too much of a stickler.

But whether it’s ticked a box or not, every piece of this year — every accidental and purposeful adventure, every experience —  have added up to far more than thirty Carpe Diems scrawled on a napkin one summer.

I did not know then I would lose a beloved, or that I would pledge my heart to another.

I could not have imagined a wild adventure riding rugged with my mother, or the simple joy of cooking confidently without recipes or rules.

I rather hope every year is full of things I couldn’t have guessed before and would never want to do without after.

For I am one lucky son of a gun and life is full of blessings.

 

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