It might be the weather, and the way we turn into ourselves when it gets cold. Our muscles work harder to stay warm and our brain naturally goes to warm and cozy places in our memory. Or it could be my birth week in November that causes me to reflect on the experiences that formed me and my idea of ideal. I naturally get tired around this part of the year, I want to retreat to my piles of notebooks and earmarked book pages to build the better me. This is my New Year. Although I am ill prepared for the aging part of my life, I can generally say that I am okay with myself. Not in a gloating way, just in a way that says that if I never do anything more than I do now, I think I would be proud. But, those earmarked books and those tea stained idea accounts are in the old desk, and if all goes to plan, next year will be amazing.