I wake up strange.

December 13th 2000 was a rainy morning in Newcastle. I remember it well because I spent a chunk of that time in the airport, waiting for a plane to land. I was waiting to see a woman I had spent four months talking with online, on the phone; had spent hours, both waking and sleeping, thinking about; who I would propose to a year later, then marry, betray, disappoint, and ultimately leave.
But sitting in the cab, on the way home, everything was possible, everything was hopeful.

When Jen left, on the 18th, we had stayed up all night, packing and talking. We went in one of those photo booths at the airport, and we were both horrified at how pale and tired we looked, though why we were suprised by that I don't understand. She flew back to Atlanta through Amsterdam, where some of her luggage went missing and was never found.

During that visit, Jen had a disk of MP3s -- the complete Barenaked Ladies up to that point (including Stunt.) I took my Christmas decorations down when she left -- I'd done my celebrating.

Here's BNL performing "What a Good Boy" a couple of months before Steven Page (singing) left the band.



"I wake up scared, I wake up strange. I wake up wondering if anything in my life is ever gonna change. I wake up scared, I wake up strange, and everything around me stays the same..."

Ten years later, I've been listening to Steven Page's first solo album since he left Barenaked Ladies last year -- it's really pretty good. And today I put up some Christmas lights. There's a feeling that things have come full circle -- that some kind of cycle has been completed. And that actually feels good, and even right.

And here's Steven performing Over Joy:



"Where did we fail? It's not simple, there's no trail. We can't trace our steps and sail back where we started. You're not to blame, and it's nothing you can name -- we'll just hang our heads in shame: broken hearted."

December 18th is also another anniversary. In 2002, I was hired into Starbucks. I wonder what happened today that will turn out to be significant. What patterns or cycles did I begin, or end?

It's 4am on Sunday right now. In six hours Jen's mother and her church choir will perform their annual Christmas program. I haven't missed it since I've been here. I won't be at tomorrow's performance. I've talked about Terry before, last year:

"For Terry's (Jen's mother) birthday we compiled a book of memories of friends and relatives, talking about good memories of the lady and what they like best about her. It was a fun thing to compile. People recall the strangest things. It was a little bitter-sweet for her to read, because things that just were what they were all those years ago, viewed with hindsight take on more meaning. The abused childhood friend who remembers hiding from pretend monsters, the long-time friend who remembers Terry's insistently compassionate response when the friend was suddenly widowed, the niece who is so proud to share her name.
My mother-in-law is an amazing lady, who doesn't just touch people's hearts and lives, she hugs them, holds them close, and does it all without asking for anything in return."

She's still that lady, even through the trials of the last year, and I am honored that she and Ray make time to keep up to date with me. They have been amazing through everything that happened with me and Jen, and I'm hoping that 2011 will be a little less stressful than 2010 has been.

Last year, in the middle of the Christmas program, I went out to the bathroom because I needed to pull myself together. I'm not one for saying with certainty that one god is more valid or more real than another, that one faith is a greater truth than another. But standing in the church, watching a couple of hundred people singing together, feeling a completeness that I had never felt, I suddenly realized that they had something I didn't, and they were happy. And I desperately wanted to be happy, and I didn't know how to do that. I stood in the bathroom and cried for a few minutes. Then I washed my face and went back in and enjoyed the rest of the service, but the feeling of being incomplete never left me -- not until pretty recently.

I'm happy now. There have been times this year when I haven't been. There have been times when I thought my happiness would be guaranteed if this happened, or that happened. But now I know that happiness has to be now, it can't depend on some future condition.

It's a week till Christmas, I am loved, I have a great family, and wonderful friends -- and when I think about 2011, I'm pretty sure that the world will find ways to surprise and delight me.