A year ago, I started this blog, aiming to bring some fresh air and humor into a life that had gotten a little too serious and sad.

The original intent was to do one thing a month I'd never done before. Things like those suggested in the "What Every Woman Should Do Once" pocketbook. Among them: Going blonde, kissing a man from every state, distracting an on-duty police officer, trying an extreme sport, driving to the airport and flying anywhere, publicly confessing something, forgetting what your mother would think.

The last is a no-brainer. I do it every day.

I got halfway through the year before you could say I faltered. I would say, instead, that bigger things began happening.

Of things on the list, I did these: Became a porn shop customer, went blonde for a night, confessed my bipolarism and quit that job I hate. That's four months out of 12. Not a great record.

But I vaulted into a whole series of other first, and sometimes, I wonder if the whole idea for the blog - trying fun, slightly daring stunts that make for great stories - led me to think big. To do the things that really changed my life.

No, I didn't kiss a guy from each of the 50 states. But if I kissed the South African at least 50 times, doesn't that count? He was, after all, from not just another state but another country! And he was cuter than snot, and a damn fine kisser, so surely that makes a liplock with him worth at least five with average, accent-less guys, does it not? Yes, the more I think about it the more I'm sure the African in himself covers all 50 states.

But the African's important for far more than his kisses. Which I WILL NOT think about right now. Damnit.

He's important because that was the first relationship I started and ended. I picked him out a crowd, won him over and, when it became clear my heart was in danger, walked away. Not the heartbroken victim, as has become a dangerous trend in my life, but a confident woman. My friend Tom assures me the African still thinks of me, and still desires me. I confess, this gives me tremendous satisfaction and a strange sense of pride.

But he's small potatoes, really, compared to the rest. I left the hated Gazette newsroom with a lie on my lips, telling them I was working for a marketing company. I did not tell them (or my mother) it was part-time, and on a three-month contractual basis with no certainty of renewal. It, partnered with another short-term contract, was all I had. It was my fire escape, and I grabbed it with relief.

With this shaky financial floor beneath me, I moved.

I became a landlord.

And a corporation: Reuter Ink. I was my own boss, responsible for my benefits, my retirement, my taxes, my vacation time, my financial stability. Yet I breathed easier in this new role than ever I did during those 18 months as a Gazette reporter.

And I had faith it would all work out just fine.

As it has.

Two months post-move, United Health Care snatched me up as though I were a jewel. It's been years since I have felt so treasured by an employer. How sweet it is.

These are the true markers of this past year. They are big and black with significance, impossible to miss.

Things are not perfect. I feel I have somehow let my son down in our inability to so far find friends for him in our new home. There's still a void in my heart waiting to be filled. We are not yet settled. There's a house out there somewhere waiting for us to step inside and call it home, the place into which we'll move in this new year.

If I can accomplish these things, the process will be complete. This life will have been completely transformed.

Could it really be because of the blog? I cannot say with certainty. But it's fun to think so. And if it is, then I have my friend "Tupper" to thank, who encouraged me to start it, who said she thought it'd be good for me.

I am hoping I can do half as much for her. So, just to her, I say: Those art classes, my dear, are not yet filled. Those new brushes? They're waiting to be held. And in a few months, my walls will be crying out for some brand new pieces.

Just a little motivation for you, Tupper. As you gave it to me.