Memories of 2011

So.

My brother sent me this spreadsheet in an e-mail back towards the end of 2009. The title of the Word document is “Memories of…“. It contains a few questions to help you determine the best and worst times of the last year and maybe, possibly even help you discover what you’re doing right. Or, conversely, wrong.

For example, in 2009 to the question “What was your favorite song for the year?” I answered “Don’t have one. Come up with a better question“. I am such a lovely person to be around. In 2010 I actually had an answer for this question, however this year it was back to “Don’t have one, ladidadida“. Seems to me I was trying over in 2010, and abruptly stopped said trying sometime in 2011.

Another awesome question “What were some of the most significant events in your life?“, and my 2009 answer “Grandpa passing away, causing me to take another look at my life“. In 2010, my answer was something about the G20 Summit. 2011? “The threat of death challenging me to seek out the good things in life“. Man, I really crash hard when it comes to dying, huh?

The main thing I noticed, as I was reading through my answers from the last three years, was that I (or perhaps my writing) had become… calmer. More relaxed. I was beginning to relish things that I had never relished before. Warmth. Comfort. Friends. Hot food. Believe me, I used to eat anything, and to me it usually tasted better cold. But this year, 2011, even though I’ve only just said I’m so glad it’s over, has made me into someone different. Someone that, dare I say, I might like to get to know better.

It is definitely interesting to note that this year I cared more about the basics, like wearing sleepwear as much as possible, travelling to spend time with family, reading lots and lots and millions of books. In years past, my priorities seemed to be geared toward money, cars, my passport (?) and a myriad number of other material things that barely skim the surface of a full, happy life. As well as wanting, needing, having to be the most sarcastic asswipe on the face of the earth.

Well, there is still that. Can’t really change who you are at the very deepest levels of consciousness, can you?

But, faze it, I iz all grewed up. Or cloze to ‘t.

“We grow neither better nor worse as we get old, but more like ourselves.” May Lamberton Becker