Look at the stars, look how they shine for you

There were two camps, the one we went to every Memorial Day weekend to kick off summer, and the one we went to every August, bookends on each school year, the same friends, the same songs, the same games we'd play on two different grassy hills. There were Jonny and Debbie and Josh and Kim and they're scattered now, mostly, but they're the voices I hear when I think of spinning stars.

We'd stand and take each other's hands. One person would have crossed arms. Together we'd make one X. We'd lean back, tipped against each other's weight, vulnerable to each other's strength, a spinning top. We'd run in circles, holding each other, looking straight to the sky, night dew on our toes and star tracks arcing in our eyes. We didn't see each other, just the constellations, but we felt each other's hands, invisible, reliable, solid. We'd spin until we were dizzy and we'd lie on the grass, panting, waiting for the stars to stop dancing.

The question this week was "what's your favorite memory from 2012" and I think of the stars spinning in the darkness. I couldn't point to a single one but I have the sense of them surrounding me, cavorting, and what's in my hand, solid, I don't see it, I'm not looking, that was 2012. Steady, trusted, beneath the horizon line because there are too many heavens to face. That was 2012: trusting the good in my hands without needing to inspect it, exploring the possibilities around us.

Everyone stops dancing on January 1 and settles in to make their choices. We will, too. Last year clarified a lot of our goals. This will be a year of implementation.

Ever forward. Ever further.

To promise.

Happy new year, friends.

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