Trips Around The Sun

It is early morning on another new year’s day.  This is my 70th celebration of a new year, my 71st year in residence on Sol’s third planet – the one we call Earth.  Several of my annual trips around this sun have been notable from my standpoint, but the most notable began 35 years ago on this very day.  Helen and I lived in Seattle then, on the crest of Queen Anne hill in a two-story brick home overlooking the city.  We decided to fully embrace the symbolism of this day by getting married in that house on that morning, with a potpourri of family and friends as witness.

While I am a reluctant celebrant of New Year’s Eve itself, the first day of each new year has always seemed full of magic, full of the possibility that a dream or two might yet be caught before the conclusion of another trip around the sun.  The day itself is nothing more than symbolism since, in the only sense that matters, each day is its own new beginning.  But this day’s mythos is so powerful and compelling that it has become the focal point for our culture’s contemplation of whatever may lie ahead.  Placed by an unseen hand, on this morning intrigue and mystery wait for us in a plain brown box lying on our front porches, its contents either coiled and poisonous like a cobra lying in its basket, or bright and shiny like a child’s birthday toy wrapped in ribbons and bows.   We can never know which, never know whether the forthcoming passage around our sun will be more full of joy than sorrow, or vice versa.  In this condition of profound ignorance lie the seeds of further personal challenge, seeds waiting to be nurtured by our sense of self-worth and our spirit of dedication.  Whether we want to or not, we will again be compelled to flex our mental muscle in demonstration of our coping skills, but on this one day we are allowed to pause and reflect, to prepare as best we can for whatever awaits.

Since I am not a fan of rear view mirrors except when driving, I almost never spend the waning days of an old year in consideration of the past, however immediate or ancient.  The view forward has always been my preferred focus.  Helen shares this philosophy; like all artists, she is well attuned to the virtue of possibility and is always ready to seize upon whatever it may yield.  But, like everyone else, both of us look backward on occasion, especially when circumstances such as a death in the family mandate a reconsideration of the past.  But whenever we do, we try our best to find lessons rather than disappointment, grace rather than pain, fond memories rather than anguish.

In keeping with this shared spirit, on this day 35 years ago we chose to clasp hands and step into the future together.  We made a conscious, considered choice to embrace the day’s symbolism, and it’s a choice I’ve never regretted throughout all of the ups and downs that couples share during a lifetime together.  I draw from and upon Helen and am better for having done so, even as my quirks remain my own: I am stronger with her assistance; wiser with her knowledge; more aware due to her vision; and braver because of her courage.

So while this is a special day in our nation’s culture, it is an especially wonderful day in Humptulips County.  I am thankful I had the good sense to make the choice to join with Helen for these annual trips through the glare of our sun, and grateful to her for sharing the voyages with me.

About Gavin Stevens

Humptulips County is the wholly fictional on-line residence of Stephen Ellis, a would-be writer, an avid fan of William Faulkner and his Yoknapatawpha County, and a retired lawyer.
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