It’s impossible for me to begin 2019 without looking back on 2018. Unlike some, I don’t feel overtly negative about 2018. I wasn’t one of the ones cheering “Later 2018! Don’t let the door smack ya on the way out!” on New Year’s Eve. The thing is, I don’t feel I have the luxury of wishing a “bad year” away. And, without judgment, I do feel it is a luxury to do so. For me, it is luxury to assume one will have an infinite number of years to go. Years with your spouse, your kids, your parents, your family, your closest friends, even though, deep in our hearts, we know that isn’t true. It’s far easier to put the blinders on, ignore that ugly truth, and march on as if this year matters more than all the years before and assume that there will be many more after. And in my life, in my particular circumstances, that’s not a luxury I allow myself anymore. For me, every day, week, month, or year, good or bad, is another one I get to spend with the man I adore more than anything in the world (I know, cheesy, but just hang on) and it’s impossible to understand the depth of meaning of that statement to me without an explanation of why this man, who makes me crazy, annoyed and frustrated can, in the next breath, completely astonish me and leave me paralyzed with adoration. That, my friends, is because there was a “before” in 2012 and again in 2018 and now we are living in the “after” (and planning to make the most of it!)