I'll be honest, this project has me worn out. As inconsequential as some of these new things have been, having to do one a day often feels like some kind of fairy-tale punishment: the unsatisfied writer wishes for something new every day and then is trapped by his desire. Careful what you wish for and all that.
Moreover, the weather here in Portland could charitably be described as Wuthering Heights.
So I woke up feeling blue and wondering why there was a mixup in the cosmic paperwork and I didn't end up with the life where "winter" is a verb, not a noun. As in "We winter on Catalina Island." In the last few days I've encountered people just back from, on the way to, or currently enjoying travels in warm climates, having adventures like swinging on zip lines in Costa Rica. Leaving me to ponder whether I'm somehow organizing my life wrong, the industrious ant constantly preparing for winter while the grasshoppers galivant about.
Still, while I'm prone to self-pity, I'm also self-motivated, so I cheered myself up by running my errands wearing a Santa hat on the entirely correct theory you can't be in a bad mood while wearing a Santa hat.
This is hardly aberrant behavior for me (as well as the sum total of my holiday spirit), so I continued scouting around for something new. And, like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, I found it in my own backyard. Or my neighbor's yard, to be precise. Inspired by his own trip to Costa Rica, Sam installed a zip line.
It's aptly named, for I did feel more zip after I sailed across his backyard. As well as a commitment to do the same off the Bridge of the Gods in Columbia Gorge this spring.
Because, fear not, I'll continue doing new things next year, but only once a week, which hopefully will free me up to be more adventuresome. Plus a new project to be unveiled in the new year.
In the meantime, just two weeks left of the fairy-tale curse.