I’ve been reflecting on the year that was – and there’s not a dry eye in the house
As I face a year’s end, I find I get a bit sentimental. In fairness, that’s not too surprising since, as previously mentioned, I have a tendency to get sentimental most of the time these days. Back when I first noticed this phenomenon I wrote about the novelty of being reduced to tears by so many things in the months after my son’s birth: insurance ads, film trailers, incredibly basic gestures of kindness from people on the bus. But I thought there would be a gradual re-hardening of my spirit, a layering-up of the callouses I once knew, calcifying me back to something like I was before.
This has not yet come to pass, so I find myself still in that heightened sense of emotional acuity. I was never particularly stoical in the first place. Compared to granite-souled Irishmen of older generations, men who could bury six friends in a week without losing track of the football scores, it seems I was already a fairly wet character.
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