And so goodbye to 2006.

Come back with me for a moment, twenty years ago. I’m in high school, busy having my heart broken for the first time. I know there’s nothing unique about that. Everyone should have their heart broken a few times. I learned a lot from it.

Fourteen years ago. I’m in college, and my heart is broken again. It isn’t the second time, nor even the last time, but it is without question the worst time. I’m devastated. Ever since then, Christmas has brought back painful memories.

That winter, I spent a long time trying not to think at all. But after a while, in spite of everything, my brain gradually came back online. And a strange thought occurred to me. That was the worst, I thought. The worst. The worst? Yes. Hm.

What are the odds, I thought. What are the odds that it could ever be that bad again?

I hear you laugh.

The next thirteen years… it was life, is all. Some very good, some very bad. But sure enough, no matter what happened, nothing even came close to being that bad. Deep down, I knew I was lucky, to have experienced The Worst so young, and to have survived.

Well, you already know the punchline. “How do you make God laugh? Tell him your plans.” Today, I can see so clearly how young and stupid innocent I was at 21. I’m even old enough now to know that I’m still young, even if I can’t truly appreciate how young.

Lately, I’ve been haunted by this Douglas Adams quote:

the sort of calmness that comes over people when they realize that however bad things may seem to be, there is absolutely no reason why they shouldn’t simply get worse and worse

…which is approximately where I am at the moment. Calmly I read the news from Washington and the Middle East. Calmly I experience 70-degree temperatures in January; I admire the inflatable snowmen, and think of the glaciers that are already gone, and the ones that will soon be gone. Calmly I drive in the first snowstorm of the year, watching cars slide slowly into each other and crumple up against trees. Calmly I remember that Sarah’s cancer is hereditary, and think of Nathaniel.

I try to remind myself that what I am thinking and feeling now will, like as not, seem completely ridiculous to my 50-year-old self, should it be the will of Allah that I live so long. I try to remind myself to stop second-guessing the universe. But I can’t help feeling just the opposite of what I felt in college:

We were so lucky, Sarah and I. We found such perfect happiness together. What are the odds that it could ever be that good again?