Like most classical comedies, this begins with a hapless struggle, and ends with a party.

But, for the record, I am not… completely hapless.

I do, admittedly,  hide behind schtick.  I joke about barely being able to dress myself, and fess up to cutting my hands with condiments (this has happened) and having remnants of floor dust that date to the Clinton Administration.  It’s funny. But sometimes my self-deprecation takes on a cynical edge, and I find myself in a Stockholm Syndromey relationship with the universe: hiding within a bubble of sarcasm and corseted into mirthless routine.

The arc of this past year has been my effort to change this.  And, truth is, I do okay. The other truth?  2012 has been the best year I’ve had in at least two decades. I’ve lost enough weight to no longer cringe when I see a mirror or a camera. I saved money and made plans to go to Asia next year.  I’ve been surrounded by friends. I kissed a girl.  I’m driving a little car to a job that lets me buy Valrhona Cocoa. Plus I have dental. And a really good boss.

The key?  I learned something. Life’s challenge does not lie in getting what you want.  That part is easy.  The real trick is figuring out what you want.

Which brings me to pizza.

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