Gone But Forgotten

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mona-swoosh Another year gone. Another year to forget.

Or not forget. Or remember some and forget some. It really doesn’t matter. It’s gone. Move on.

Not that we should forget, because lessons can be learned, memories can be remembered, loves lived and loves lost to be imprinted on the long-term memory. Or not.

It was the best of years, it was the worst of years, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, were all going direct the others way – in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.

With the exception of substituting “years” for “times” in the opening clause, the quote is verbatim of A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens. And yet it could be applied to the year just past. Life is funny that way.

So we can catalog the misery of the year gone by, or its wonders, or its defeats, or its marvels, or its opportunities won or opportunities lost, or, well, you get the picture. It was a great year; it was a terrible year.

It’s gone.

It’s a new year. A time to do what you want to do now, not what you didn’t do then or might never do in the future.

To quote another philosopher/master of insight: