I suppose it's the result of the tempestuous beginning of my year that finds me so quiet and pensive lately, longing for simple pleasures and peaceful days. I find myself reading a lot, lately, and writing in my journal trying to piece together some notion of what exactly it is that I am looking for and craving in my life. I know that I love gardening and farms, quiet spaces, books, warm drinks and wooly things. I know that I write constantly and that I photograph things in order to remind me to focus on the small and lovely pleasure in life, things that I might otherwise miss; I do both to help stave off the melancholic in me that can sometimes be so easy to succumb to. I'm trying to turn myself into an optimist, which is rather hard for me because I grew up in a household whose response to optimism is that one "needs to be realistic." I'm trying to focus on the fact that it may never be too late to live the life that one wants to live and that sometimes, you have to go in the face of everything that everybody near you says in order to find your own happiness. I'm trying to find my own path, which has been rather winding and rocky. I've been thinking about careers and work, about the chapter in Les Miserables where Victor Hugo writes about how Maurice needs work to help balance his life and trying to reconcile it somehow with his notion that one should frame life so that his fact and his dreaming meet. I've been piling up all of the things that I love and all of the things that give me comfort and wrapping myself in them. I've been trying to knit my life together one small loop at a time: knit one, purl one.