I wanted to write a love letter to 2009.

Because I loved all that was 2009. And 2009 loved me. And we were made for each other. And like a girl who can’t let go easily, I was sorry to see 2009 go.

I was going to title it “An Ode to 2009” (simple, yes). I was going to talk about my themes for 2009 (magic, clarity and peace) and for 2010 (patience, forgiveness and focus).

But I didn’t do any of that. I just wasn’t feeling it.

Instead, I tweeted from my NYC New Year’s trip with my friend Elizabeth. I was feeling my aimless trip time instead. I ate Indian food, Chinese food, falafel and went to sleep by 11:30 pm on New Year’s Eve.

And that was plenty for me.

Last year, 2009, was a major year in the life of me. Some years, I have no recollection of whatsoever. None. And that’s probably better.

But other years, well, those are years like 2009. Those are the years you never forget. The years that rock you to your core and change everything. The beautiful, magical years.

That was 2009 for me.

And my 2009 started precisely last New Years Eve. As I fell asleep and vowed to have a different life by the time 2010 started.

And a different life is what I have.

So knowing my work there in 2009 was done allowed me to fall asleep, in a hotel room with my best friend, before midnight even struck.

Knowing my work in 2009 was done allowed me to not care one bit about all the parties, drinking and fun craziness that I was apparently missing that evening, in New York City and elsewhere.

Instead of partying or seeking out some sort of external gratification on New Years Eve, I just was being.

I was grateful.

And I was calm.

And at peace.

Oh….and I was absolutely freakin’ terrified.

Like down to the bottom of my freezing-in-New-York-feet terrified.

Terrified because knowing my work in 2009 was done, and knowing that I had exceeded every expectation I had of myself in 2009 and that my year had been one of magic, clarity and peace made me scared as hell.

Terrified because I knew that 2010 MUST top that. And 2009 will be a tough act to follow.

I have raised the bar. I have put myself and those around me on notice. That’s scary stuff.

Scary especially for me when I get in my “movie-making” mode. You know, the movies in your head starring What If, How and You Can’t?

My ego, as the director of this particular movie, tells me “You could not possibly rock it as much or as well in 2010 as you did in 2009. Don’t even try, Girlfriend!”

Oh it knows me well, that ego of mine. It reminds me of how I went so public in 2009 so that now any failings or slip-ups or just not being up-to-par in general will have to be divulged as well.

And people might know that I am so not perfect. That I messed up. That I don’t have everything figured out.

I keep thinking of one of my all-time favorite songs: “Superman” by Five for Fighting.

I can’t stand to fly…

In the song, Superman (yes, the superhero guy) admits he is not all that. He is breaking down and finally putting it all out there and telling us regular people that he is as (or even more) flawed and messed up as the rest of us. Not only that, he is telling he doesn’t even like what we so admire him for doing and what we expect him to do.


I’m only a man in a silly red sheet digging for kryptonite on this one-way street…

Under the superhero garb, he’s as lost as the rest of us.

He wears this silly red sheet because we expect him to. But it’s not working for him. And he is as burdened as the rest of us. Our perception of him is so very tough for him to live up to.

The guy simply can’t pretend anymore.

I wish that I could cry, fall upon my knees, find a way to lie ‘bout a home I’ll never see…

Have you heard the saying “you need to have a breakdown to have a breakthrough?” Superman wants to live without B.S. He doesn’t want to talk on and on about his home anymore – even though it was so a part of the story of who we thought he was. Sound familiar?

This guy doesn’t want to fake it anymore.

And it’s not easy to be me…

Before this blog, and before I located my voice (and realized I had one), and before twitter (yea, I know) and before I learned that I am so perfectly not perfect, I felt like him.

Trying to be Superman (woman) and failing miserably every time. And failing miserably in a way that I tried to hide. Being ashamed of my imperfection. Thinking I was the only one floundering or questioning or failing.

The only thing that is not easy is pretending.

I’m only a man in a funny red sheet looking for special things inside of me…

I know I have everything I need already. I don’t always have my roadmap (actually I never have it….where is it?) and I don’t always know where I am going, how I will get there and how I will live, feel, exist, make money or survive when I get there, but I do know I will be OK.

My funny red sheet may have been my marriage or the most recent stage in my business or even an old pair of pants that just don’t fit.

Your funny red sheet may be something else. Whatever it is, it doesn’t work for you or make sense for you anymore. Whatever it is, or isn’t, what does work for you and what does make sense for you already exists right inside of you. Not in other people’s perceptions of you or what you think you should do, be or have or of what you thought you wanted last year but hate now.

So right now on this 3rd day of 2010, I am working to get out of movie-making mode and to just be and trust. My silly red sheet may have served a purpose but it is being replaced. I don’t yet know if my next sheet will be green or brown or not even a sheet at all. I just don’t know. And not knowing is magical and scary at the very same time.

Superman can do it and I will too. And you will too, by the way.