Photo of J by Laura Vasilion.

Today was our first snowfall of 2010. As I let the sky kiss my face with thick, white flakes and I acknowledged the crystals before they spent their short lives, I was grateful my friend and I had taken a day to meander aimlessly around Boulder.

The first days and weeks of the new year often seem pregnant with urgency. People chase ideals and inadequacies from room to room, polishing one and stuffing the other in empty filing cabinets. We wipe our brows and dust off our hands and nod, satisfied that we’ve put that year behind us, the year when such-and-such happened and you-know-what didn’t. We lock the cabinet drawers so the dearly departed year does nothing that ghosts are wont to do, like shattering our finest filigreed plates or stacking chairs in whimsical domestic sculptures.

We open the front door to the new year and the winter wind blows in with it. We’re stronger now, and so full of resolve, and there’s nothing we can’t withstand– certainly not a little chill and a few snowflakes in the foyer.

Because this is The Year, isn’t it? The year when life takes a turn for the better, when all our hard work pays off, when the chips fall favorably and champagne bottles shatter against pristine hulls.

2010 is that year. We should all believe it because there is no other year than this one. No moment beyond now. There’s so much assessment, appraisal, and intensity in January that it’s nice to take a few minutes to just be.

No resolutions, no intentions. Just existence, and the cloud dust in your hair.