I sat in my chair in our livingroom going through a folder with our family history (on my mother's side) in it. My suburban hands don't show it, but I actually come from rather hearty stock. My grandfather was a soldier and a blacksmith. My grandmother worked at everything from farming to factory sewing.

I looked at faces past and reminisced a little. It's strange, but whether I'm going through photo albums of extended family history, or just going through our own immediate family history, I'm often gripped by a strange sense of melancholy. This isn't because of time wasted. Believe it or not, I actually appreciated and savored every moment - of my children's lives, of being alive, even of the music and fashion of the day. In fact, at times my memories have soundtracks and smells associated with them because I remembered to cherish those moments. It occurs to me that I visit the past rightly - to remember, to learn, to appreciate how fleeting time actually is. But many actually live with their heads straining for the past while their feet try to move through the present.

Dear 2008:

I’ve never broken up with the past before, so I’ll be honest—this will be a little awkward. You’ve been great, but it’s not you, I promise. It’s me.

You’ve been very good to me this year, having taught me about the value of a simple life, the reward of slow and steady practice, the glory of aging a little bit at a time, and the sheer beauty of four separate seasons. I hardly knew you twelve months ago, but I’d heard about your reputation—that you would be better than 2007 and that an optimist would find you charming and good. They were right. You were all of those things.

But I was reading the Bible this morning and God said that there’s a time for everything under the sun. A part of me wishes I could keep you for a while longer. You’re safe and really, really predictable. I like that about the past. But God has new things for me and that means that I have to let you go.