Day One of Reverb 10. Excited, anxious, full of that nervous, thrumming energy I always get as I wade into a new creative project. (Never mind that I'm already a day behind, and am actually composing this on December 2. That's the magic of the interwebs: I'll backdate and no one will ever know. Well, except . . . nevermind).

Our prompt for today is One Word: "Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you’re choosing that word. Now, imagine it’s one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you?"
Dear lord, do you understand how difficult it is for me to select just one of anything to elevate to "it" status? I get downright panicky when asked for superlatives. But I agreed to play, and this does strike me as a good place to start.

2010 in one word: Root.

"a part of the body of a plant that . . . grows downward into the soil, anchoring the plant and absorbing nutriment and moisture."

This year, for the first time in my adult life, I don't feel like a transient. I certainly have not committed to living in this city for the rest of my life, but I'm here for the foreseeable future. And I'm here affirmatively. This is where I've chosen to live and work and play and (theoretically) love. And perhaps more to the point, I'm not running toward anything. It's amazing how much that slowing down frees you up to live your life.

When I reflect back on pretty much any moment of at least the last decade, I'm struck by the impermanence of my then-current station in life. That's weirdly worded, but do you know what I'm saying? Most recently, it was the Never-Never Land of law school--and thank the gods on high that that is a fleeting state, because three years of law school is PLENTY. But that was three years of living somewhere temporary (and part-time, since I spent my summers elsewhere), during which every fibre of my being was aimed at a particular goal: get that degree. Then move on.

Okay, that goes with the territory. I had a similar experience during grad school a few years previous. And the years between the two programs were a kind of suspended animation: plenty of fun and certainly formative in their own right, but lacking any sense of rootedness. It's hard to envision that you're beginning a life when you're broke as a joke in a tiny, dank, dimly lit Manhattan studio, trying to figure out why your post-fancy-masters-degree job title and salary are the same as that you'd left before graduate school.

"to implant or establish deeply"

So snap back to 2010. At long last, I have all of the formal education I ever plan to inflict upon myself. (IMO, the fact that I now view formal education as more of a burden than the privilege it really is is the surest sign that I'm done). I have a great career. For the most part, I have a great life. And I am fully inhabiting my Now. Here I am.

I'm putting down roots. I feel as though I belong. This manifests in silly ways, too: I finally gave up my NY domicile, voter registration and driver's license after clinging stubbornly for several years. For the first time in my adult life, I have established relationships with a primary care physician, gynecologist, dentist, endocrinologist, and hairdresser in the same city. I belong to a CSA, which I can do now that I live in the same place throughout the growing season. I've gotten to know many of my neighbors. I belong to a private dog park (which fact also belongs on the Top Indications that I've Become a Damned Yuppie list)
 
So 2010 has been the year to root. I hope and pray for 2011 to be the year of harvest. Lately, I've been struck by this sense of abundance-almost-realized in my life. I say this with much gratitude for all of my good fortune: I've worked really effing hard--professionally, physically, spiritually, interpersonally--to create the life I'm living, and in 2011 I hope to realize a plentiful crop in return.