“Many new things will happen this year” says the fortune cookie or the Dove chocolate wrapper or the blog post I’m writing.

Some things are ending for me, some things are beginning, and some have just rolled over into this new year without any disconnect.

I have half of being 44 behind me, and half ahead of me (today’s my half-birthday). So today is a day right in the middle, a day to talk about what is behind and what is ahead.

You don’t always get the things you want in life, but sometimes you do, and when that happens, you can thank God, or your lucky stars, or Warby Parker.

The story I’m about to tell is one I treasured in my heart for months after it happened because I’m learning how good it can be to hold on to something as mine for a time.

When I die, I’d like to have my commonplace books buried with me unless any of my kids wants to keep them. I don’t want them to go into uncaring hands because these words are my very life.

My experiences of Shakespeare are threefold and minimal: Maggie O’Farrell’s Shakespeare-inspired novel Hamnet, which I read in March of last year; not attending the yearly Veritas Shakespeare plays, but knowing people in them; and memorizing one Shakespeare sonnet.