Back in January, I thought of writing about a failed friendship. But let's just say that when a bad relationship has breathed it's last, no amount of resolve can't revive it... and leave it at that. Anyway, this whole year feels more promising. Maybe it's how wonderful it is for my feminine self-esteem to watch a woman run for president. Or maybe it's that March is much easier than, say, fall, when our climate fades from green to gray with not enough red in between. Much better than November when I feel like someone who needs to be revived with smelling salts. Definitely better than December, the most trying month because it's supposed to be the merriest. Absolutely better than the blur of January/February-about as bleak as the weather gets around here.

But there are days, mercifully, when the sun casts a stark light over Elliott Bay and we find ourselves staring at West Seattle, lit up like a flambeau, until we, too, become lighter. Maybe that's what I'm feeling...

There are more days, however, when clouds press down and a brutal wind blows. Days when a few shivering walkers are determined to enjoy the outdoors no matter what. One such walker walks by my building daily. And she is clearly over seventy years old. Still, her discipline does not obscure the fact that it's just no fun to be outside.

Perhaps this is why we make resolutions in the first place, to give ourselves a new set of survival tools until spring arrives. Fortunately, my 2008 survival tool was inspired by someone a few months back. For the sake of privacy, let's just call the inspirer Mr. X.

You see, I called Mr. X "a real piece of work." Ahem... to his face.

Now wait a minute. I was provoked. This time of year, I'm more prone to surliness and I'm beginning to take it more seriously. It works as a bright relief valve for a darkish mood. Last year around this time I told one of my editors, straight out, that he needed a wife! "I don't underestimate the perceptiveness of my readers and neither should you!" I yelled into my cell phone. "You... you just don't get it!" "It" being me, us, women. He had (I am sure of this) no idea what I was talking about.

Back to Mr. X. He caught me off guard. He not only registered my arrival at my favorite coffee shop, he wanted to talk to me, which can be one of the comforting things you love about community, or a huge pain in the behind when the unavoidable encounter means face time with one of your "ghosts," i.e. those we pretend not to see. Please do not pretend not to know what I am talking about. And what tipped me off that he wanted to talk to me? "Hey, Sanelli, I've got a bone to pick with you!" he piped.

Cringe. Okay, fine.

Feedback doesn't surprise (or level) me like it once did. The thing that still does surprise me, however, is how many readers don't understand that a column is only an opinion, no more right or wrong than the next person's. What surprises me even more is when a reader feels the need to "correct" my view when it doesn't jell with their own. Usually, something about the tone reminds me of my father's voice back when my opinion was referred to as "talking back."

Mr. X. went on about something I wrote. He had every right to, of course. What I still question is his right to call my opinion "unacceptable."

I don't consider myself a journalist. I don't write about news issues, directly that is, or even take it upon myself to educate my readers as to what "the issues" are. Generally speaking, I write about ordinary things which, after taking a closer look, turn out to be not so ordinary at all. "So if I nudged you to think about the issue in a different way, it's a good thing, right?" I said to Mr. X. He was quiet for, like, a millisecond. Then, unsurprisingly, he started in again, this time with a pointed finger moving back and forth way too close to my face. A real stretch for me. I wanted very much to hit him. But I stood there listening. And I had this thought: you can always tell a retired professor. They still need/want to profess. And it's amazing how often they mistake it for conversation.

Who needs this? I thought. Not me. So I interrupted him to sling my stone.

I walked outside into the cold and vowed to have coffee at home from then on. Then, for some reason, I looked back at the window where Mr. X. sat. He waved. He smiled. I think we both understood in that moment, without acknowledging it, that he'd forgiven me. Which made it a hundred times easier to forgive him.

So, on this new day of a new year, my resolution is this: Next time I'm confronted with pedantry, I say nothing and walk away. Then I won't have all the mental chatter saying, "You shouldn't have said that... you shouldn't have said that!"