By any measure, 2009 has been an ogre. A lineal Shrek, if you will. We probably all would have given it a miss had we heeded the decree of the Chinese calendar that it was to be the Year of the Killer Tomato. Given the chance to hit reset on the impending culmination of 365 vexing days, however, I would not take it. There are strengthening vitamins and minerals to be had in the juices of the very tomatoes at my feet that have pelted my face and stung my wide eyes.
There have been financial challenges, the likes of which were previously alien to me. With the disjointed gyrations of an industry and market that represent a brand new dance to even the longest tenured vets, I have been forced to the brink of professional incineration for long stretches on end. With seared toes and fingertips, however, I’ve held fast at the threshold to that fiery abyss. My Gen-X core becoming more pliable and durable all the while in paradoxical harmony. A representative for a generation that is accustomed to having, to entitlement, I have learned the pain and honor of struggle. Months on end to produce results that formerly took days or weeks. Deals faltering where they had always stuck. The size of the paychecks for those miraculous transactions that have beaten the odds to reach the closing table dwindling in numerical lockstep with the eroded property values in our midst, even as costs continue to rise.
Bill collectors unconcerned about any of it.
There have been personal challenges. The year began with mortality staring unflinchingly into our faces. Loved ones saddled with dreaded diagnoses and marching orders to treacherous corners of an unconcerned earth. And loss. There has been loss. Both that which was not yet in our grasp and that which had been held in loose, complacent grip. In our sorrow, we have found new strength. Renewed commitment. Stronger bonds that will never permit the tenuous clutches of the immediate moment to intrude upon the existence or color pallet of a promised collective future. Deeper reservoirs of ourselves with which to nourish those who require infinite supply.
With a little less than a month remaining in this stanza, I am eager to turn the page, albeit wholly aware that no classic prose is free of drama. That every resolution requires a conflict. When all is said and done, and the metaphorical book of me is written, it will be this very chapter that stands out in full bas relief. I needed 2009 to become who I am to be, and I wouldn’t give it back for all the rotten tomatoes in Shanghai.
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