It has been approximately one year since I’ve written a post such as this one. I didn’t plan it—though I find that I ritually take stock of my life twice a year, generally at the beginning of spring and the end of autumn. In fact, I still give myself quarterly life reviews, a practice that is hokey, ridiculous, and essential.

Things are—decent? Yes, decent—with the potential to be quite good in the future! And it is so odd to type that, because when I left everything (New Jersey, publishing, etc.) in the wake of my grandmother’s death I was adamant in the belief that things would never be good and I would simply have to arrange my life to best cushion blow after inevitable blow.

We are so programmed to fear change that we will hammer away at that which does not work rather than consider a new option. Even the changes made in my own life were due not to a flash of enlightenment but hastily scrambling through an exit after discovering that all of my previous paths had been blocked. I didn’t decide to change; I was forced to change—and I was miserable about accepting said change. Later, I was very lucky to discover that the change made was an improvement. But that positive result was completely arbitrary.

I’ve become much more proactive in the past few months, though I haven’t blogged about it. (Talk of finances and lease agreements are a hell of a lot less popular than scathing comments about various entertainment industries.) At the risk of sounding schmaltzy and dipping into Oprahesque tendencies, pick the path that will best get you to the life that you want and take it like you’ve got a NOS tank strapped to your back. There’s an immaculate modern ranch and a dopey looking Labrador named Frank in my future and best believe real estate will get me there. Your path will get you there too—wherever “there” is—even if you have to reroute your course a few times. (The ranch and Frank are mine though, but feel free to select from the wide array of bright futures the universe has to offer.)

C’mon. Let’s go.