The road to success is paved with perseverance, thick-headed effort, and lengths of gut ripped loose when I missed a turn or two.

I am holding the past year in my hand, rolling it around on my palm and wondering if this heap needs to sail from the car window, or find a place on a shelf for reference.

Taking out a knife I slice the year apart and pull slivers and chunks of meaning from the filler stuff -- days where my mind sort of rests while my body carries on The Routine. Lily is in there, among the muddy, cold days of last December as the dogs growled deep warning sounds at one another.

The knife's blade cuts out the arguments and stress, days spent nodding off while an office whipped around me, productive, and slices from the mess the perfect shape and size of a friend or two that would have willingly grabbed for my hand had I only looked up. But, when I am determined to walk into walls, grumble, and kick the junk in my path, I will.

In the forest behind our house this weekend: Is this your path, Jerry asks?

We are shimmying through trees and shadows along a path of flattened leaves.

Yes! I answer.

In truth, I consider this beaten ground as Lily's path. Across stones and abrupt changes in the slope I would run with her every morning to keep her nimble, winded, and happily at rest once we were home. Bitch! My eyes would water with the cold, and hard winter ground often twisted and yanked at my scrambling feet.

Placing her head low over the ball she dropped, Lily's breath burst in tufts of steam from her snout. Sunlight ran its yellow fingers through her fur's bristled tips and she loomed -- a young dog that would have died here in the woods, roaming and without help.

Leaving Jerry behind with Ozzie, Bandit, and Hershey, I chase Lily up to the old foundation where I again creep up the rise, wondering who once stood above, looking down. She wanders through the stacked, fitted stones and I cross a moss covered ledge to glance deep into the forest. A rusty color tints the fallen leaves and tree trunks as the sun shifts. We head back and Lily dashed toward Hershey's barking.

As for the rest of the year sliced up in my palm like an apple, I see the bar. Running through the woods I toss out words of thanks for the extra money and the fun that have helped me and helped a friend.

I see lots of struggle elsewhere. Happiness is being an elusive little shit, but I'll find him. I got through the year, and have emerged at the end, as always, a different person than when I started. Am I better or worse? I think I am just different. Maybe soon I'll really poke through the parings and look closely for meaning, mistakes, and lessons that I have hopefully learned.