I didn’t make any new year’s resolutions at the end of last year. I think I was mostly right to do so. Emigrating is stepping into the unknown. A few months ago, my grandmother-in-law asked if I had a roadmap for my future, and the truth is that I still don’t. I have ideas, and aspirations, but nothing concrete.

Here are some things I’ve learned over the last year:

There is the occasional advantage to being a hermit. When I started university, I essentially shut off emotionally - I was productive during that time, and there were flashes and peaks every now and then, but I had a good couple of years of almost entirely isolating myself. This has produced something of a disjointed memory, characterised chiefly by the fact that I somehow went from being an irredeemable asshole to a person that I mostly, just about like with no apparent transition. I learned all the right ways to live in abstract, and it’s only over the last year or so that I’ve been afforded the opportunity to put it into practice.

You never lose your capacity to be overwhelmed. I have cried on a few occasions this year, but (more importantly) I’ve been feeling these absurd swells of happiness that I thought had vanished entirely. Some of this is probably one of the more contagious elements of Arden’s personality - every emotion of hers is fired through with so much more raw power, and I suspect it’s rubbed off on me - but I think I’ve also been coming into my own a little more. I’ve had experiences that I can feel something about.

Life moves at its own pace.I spent the latter half of this year struggling to get a car to work so I could learn to drive it, get my permit, and significantly widen the pool of jobs I could apply to; in the last couple of weeks, the car died, ending a saga marked by a mood that’s best described as constipated. Next year, I plan to regroup, and form a plan that’s sustainable but allows me to move forward; having said that, I’m going to back away from the first sign of frustration, or upset that things aren’t moving as fast as they would in an ideal world.

Every accomplishment, no matter how small, deserves celebration. I sold a hundred books this year. My instinct, even now, is to deride something like that - well, most of them were at sale prices, and that doesn’t mean that any of those people have actually read it, and you didn’t make much money, and you have Arden to thank for the publicity - but I should be focusing on the fact that ten times as many people bought Dystopolis compared to its predecessor. That’s crazy! 100 people bought and probably read over a hundred pages of words that I wrote! Wow!

Then there’s the fact that I got married, which I initially hesitate to consider an accomplishment, but after the hoops we had to jump through, it absolutely was; I got a job, which is admittedly the lowest I’ve ever been paid for the hardest work I’ve ever done, but it’s still a job; and I moved to another country, which would have been impossible without the generosity of others, but it was still hard work. There’s this idea that if you share an accomplishment with others, it’s somehow diminished, but I’ve been learning to get away from an idea that toxic.

I got married this year. I’m still learning how that works, though there are a bunch of elements that feel effortless. The way people talk about marriage is miserable, and there’s the constantly-cited statistic that 50% of marriages end in divorce, but that fails to take into account all of the marriages that come about through a sense of duty, or because of an unexpected kid, or because the two parties just don’t want to die alone. It also ignores the 50% who never go their separate ways. I look at depictions of marriage, now, and wonder at how cynical they are. I hear older people complaining about their husbands and wives, and don’t recognise myself in the things they say. Every day, I love Arden a little more, and it’s something that shows no sign of going away any time soon.

I watched a lot of films, hardly read any books, and played far too many video games. I want to correct this next year. There is something crucial in the fact that I’m not as confident a writer anymore, and I think that’s in part because I don’t read as much.

I got a job at a supermarket, and learned to talk to strangers again. There are layers of artifice that come with salesmanship; I’m learning more than I thought I would. At the very top: how best to moderate my British accent so I don’t have to repeat myself over and over to elderly New Englanders. There’s more, though. I got past my squeamishness around raw food. I don’t get many opportunities, but I’m a lot more confident in the kitchen these days.

I kind of fell off the wagon when it came to blogging. In November, the month that Dragon Age: Inquisition came out, I only posted four times, which is something I regret. There is value to chronicling your life, even if it’s just talking about what you ate for breakfast. At its worst, it’s a past record of the mistakes you shouldn’t make again; at its best, it’s a way of uncovering memories you thought you’d lost.

So. 2015 is in a week. I’m going to come up with some ideas for the year ahead. I haven’t felt this fired up in a while. I want to write more, and do more, and see more, and continue an upward trajectory, both professionally and personally. For the first time in a while, I’m excited about the future.