Long December and there's reason to believe, maybe this year will be better than the last...

I always get nostalgic in December. Maybe reflective is a better word. Not only is it the end of a calendar year, it's also my birthday month. Then, of course, there are the holidays and time with family and, since my life has always been organized around an academic calender, the end of yet another long semester...

I had big expectations for my 25th year (a.k.a 2008). Not sure why. Just seemed the time to make things happen.

And I suppose I did make things happen. I tried things and succeeded. I tried things and failed. I memorized everything I possibly could about music history, theory, and pedagogy. I took (and passed) two graduate comprehensive examinations. I stayed up all night in a library and analyzed Schoenberg's Op. 25. I skipped a lot of classes. I procrastinated. I taught class sober. I taught class hungover. I dyed my hair. I had the most memorable, fun, and ridiculous Valentine's day of my life. I went to Boston and did super cool original research at Harvard. I felt really big and really small. I earned my first of two Masters degrees and felt all at once that I was finally proud of myself and that the whole thing was a giant fucking waste of time. I taught a hell of a lot of kids how to play the piano. I moved into a new house. I bought real furniture. I read Plath and Salinger and James and Hemingway by the pool during the laziest summer of my life. I got my first official "professor" job. I went to California for the first time (hello, west coast, you are pretty damn cool!). I slept in the grass one night. I wrote half of my thesis for my second masters degree. I went to the symphony by myself. I went to the symphony with other people. I had fun with several cute boys. I was miserable over a couple of them. I passed half of a French exam. I failed half of a French exam. I caucused. I voted. I quit practicing piano for the first time since I was 6. I still played a hell of a lot of piano. I drank too much. I smoked too much. I learned that I have a hard time getting close to people. I continued to try to figure out what I believe about (or if i believe in) god. I continued to try to figure out who I want to be as a person. I cried a great deal. I gained 5 lbs. I spent too much money. I was completely broke. I listened - really listened - to music more than I ever have before. I bought a stupidly expensive plane ticket to Scotland. I watched operas. I stressed over the demise of yet another piece of crap car. I bought yet another used car. I ate a lot of tacos.

I'm really tired. Actually, I can't remember a December in which I wasn't exhausted. I wonder if I'll always live my life in a way that leaves me feeling spent and worn. (That statement was a little dramatic. Half of me wants to let the backspace/delete key swallow up the words "spent" and "worn" and type something more sensible.) I'm leaving the sentence because I'm tired. I'm not too tired to hit "delete," but too tired to care. I need to wonder these things.

Will life slow down?

Do I want it to slow down?