Today I am reminded that 2002 wasn't any old year in my life. I graduated from college, married Andrea, moved to downtown Chicago, started working for the Tribune, wrote the first two chapters of my book. I have known the highest thrills of my life along with the darkest, loneliest moments that mark such transitions. It's as hard to believe that both fit so tightly in the span of one year as it is to consider that tomorrow begins another 365-day cycle of life (however artificial a distinction it is). And so my hope for 2003 is profoundly different from this day last year: I hope for more of the same--more of the same fulfillment in my writing, my living downtown, my marriage. I hope Andrea and I adjust to living with each other and function more smoothly, and I similarly hope for some measure of stability in the occasionally frustrating relationship I have with the Tribune as a freelancer. And as with last year, I hope for a sense of direction in the midst of the questions and choices that face Andrea and me. I can only return to my entry for my 23rd birthday this year, September 26, to sum up my thoughts on New Year's Eve: "[It] humbles me [to see] the blessings God has granted. If my life contributes in some small way to his kingdom, year in and year out--only then (in addition to the worth he grants through grace) does this meager milestone of the universal speck of my life count for anything."