Has it really been a year? A year since I drove to work, a year since I had Wednesday coffee with Amy, a year since I stopped commuting to San Francisco every weekend, a year since I could pop by Club Fred or the Den on a weeknight for a pint or three, a year since I worked in the family business… It’s so strange, since it doesn’t seem that long ago.

It has not felt like a year. In addition to the weather-related element, this truly has been a year in the fog. I’ve felt that strange unreal drunkenness for a year now. The clouded sense of place that comes from being plunked down in a new job, in a new home, in a new environment; working in a new job which demands more of me than I’ve ever given before, living in a slice of domestic bliss I never imagined possible, in a City full of strangely plastic people who seem incapable of comprehending that their planet is larger than a few square miles, and that a plane ride or trip across a bridge is not an interstellar journey.

I’ve contemplated what I prefer about my life this past year. First and most obvious is being married. I never thought it would suit me so well, but I’ve grown into it pretty fittingly, and it seems to get more pleasant and enjoyable every passing day, week and month. There’s the job: the job I struggle at, the job I have put my entire being into without any clear expectation of what it means for my future, but continuing to squeeze every ounce of motivation and energy of my being into. It’s strange how one can truly focus such a massive force into a task one never expected to perform, or do it routinely, or well. I never really thought my future lay in corporate finance, and I never thought I’d be any good at something I didn’t specifically enjoy outside of the timeclock’s grip, but here I am, and it looks like the long haul. Time will tell what sorts of fulfillment it truly brings.

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