Anew

I love that word, "anew." It means to do something again, in a different way. To make fresh something that is ... well ... not so. And so today, we begin anew.

Yesterday, being New Year's Eve, I contemplated falling apart. All the failed attempts of a year, all the mistakes, all the wrong turns. All the trust broken, goals not reached. All the loss. But New Year's Eve also brings with it a tradition that makes it hard to hold on to bitterness: the Salsa/Funk Jam. You cannot sit on your pity pot and dance at the same time.

So 10:45 a.m. found me in Studio 1 with some of the best people I know, poised to usher out the old year with thumping bass and Latin rhythms, sashays, turns and opportunities to fly for a fraction of a second. At the end of that 90-minute class, my heart was light. My mind was at peace. The perfect way to begin the day.

By the time nightfall approached, a fresh layer of snow had fallen and I thought it might be wise to just stay home. But music - good music - beckoned me out. My friends Kathleen and Shawn were hosting an open mic-style party with a house band loaded with the best musicians I know. Stay home, when I could hear them? I think not.

And am I ever glad I went. One after another, great songs were played. Original works by Kathleen and our mutual friend Eric, and great covers of everything from Billy Joel to The Beatles, Pink Floyd to Don Henley. It was awesome. I love my talented friends. Midnight rolled around and we toasted one another while the band played Auld Lang Syne. Hugs and kisses were exchanged. Laughter ensued. The night began to draw to a close.

At around 12:30, I made my way to the car. The previous fresh layer of snow had been coated with a new one, and the world was white. Quiet. Perfect.

It was as if earth itself was reminding me to begin anew.

From here, right now, today, it doesn't matter what happened yesterday. It doesn't matter who you let down, or who let you down, or how you let yourself down. It doesn't matter because as of today, you are on the first page of an empty book with exactly 365 pages. It's time to begin.

Approximately the ninth fresh layer of snow. The world paints itself anew.