As we enter a new year, I’m looking back on the old one, on the trips to Thailand, Nepal, Arkansas, Kentucky, Missouri, Florida, Ireland, Washington and Malawi—more travel than I ever thought I’d experience in 12 months.

I think about the people I’ve met on these wanderings—fellow musicians from my youth orchestra in Lexington, child labor advocates in Lilongwe, women safe tempo drivers in Kathmandu.

I think about my own dear family and how thankful I am for them, for our closeness in good times and tough ones. For the walks in Seattle with Celia, the dog romps in Oak Hill with Claire and the long strolls through Arlington with Suzanne.

Now we have a new month and year, a blank calendar, 365 days to fill. I’m writing my resolutions, cleaning my pantry, plotting my approach. As usual, I’m asking myself to worry less and appreciate more.

I wonder if through the years there’s been a gradual ascent, the steady recognition that living with gratitude is the only way to go. I’d like to think there has been, but progress has been miniscule. I’m thankful today that I have another year in which to try.