In the beginning, there was light, and the light was good. It was pure and beautiful, something remarkable in its wondrousness, because all it did was to light up things.
In the beginning, it's always fresh because there was no thought of endings, and the space was always filled with good feelings, like hope, dreams, and good intentions. The light glows like bright spring sunshine and every color showed up brilliantly--the green of the grass, the red splash upon the robin's breast, the cloudless blue of the morning sky.
And the writer writes with so much joy because it was all pretty and fresh and so easy. There was no one to ask about imperfections because there were none yet. There was no fear of a mistep. No accidents. There was no deadline. Everything was about the light and how it lit up the world through her eyes.
Sometimes, as a writer, you struggle to retain this moment because the journey in the light could shift; sometimes it'd dim and in that slow darkness those colors that had mesmerized before seem so difficult to remember. The child-like springiness becomes plodding steps, brought on by fear. Because that darkness makes every movement tentative and malevolent voices start to eat one's soul.
It is a New Year, my dear. Nay, since you're cynical about such things, it is a NEW DECADE. Your 00s are over, with its dark ending and self-beating attitude. Make this your beginning again, when the light held that specialness that brought out your sense of wonder and your joy in sharing yourself to others with words. Lessons are meant to be put to good use, and you've learned many, but in this NEW DECADE, you should just let the light guide you while it's still bright and innocent.