I’m writing to you from the cusp of the new year, in the midst of my sabbatical. I knew ahead of time sabbatical would be wonderful, but I didn’t quite realize just how luscious it would be—to have this time to write, to read, but most of all, to simply slow down and be a human being. I’m taking yoga classes three times a week, walking the dog in places we’ve never been before, and cooking elaborate meals for whoever I can snare (imagine: fennel-encrusted pork tenderloin with maple/mustard sauce. Honey-curry bread and cumin chicken. Salmon with apricot-cinnamon glaze). I’m able to sit and have coffee, listen to a friend for a long time without looking at my watch, thinking about where I need to be next.

It took me a while to get here, though. The notion of sabbatical, like so many things, has roots in the bible, where we are urged to “desist from working in the fields” every seventh year. It’s meant to be an extended Sabbath, a time of rest, though as with most things in our world, the modern sabbatical is often reconfigured to be a time to work even harder, to “get stuff done.” I started my sabbatical with an elaborate “mission statement” and four pages of outlines, schedules, deadlines, affirmations (I know, I know! Don’t laugh at me!). Gradually, these strictures lessened, and I was able to find the rhythm and routines that allow me to be productive, but to feel a little more relaxed about it. Most crucial to this enterprise are my pockets of community: my yoga teacher and classmates, my sangha, my two writing groups, my collaborator Holly Hughes, and other writing buddies—both near and far—with whom I correspond. If I were doing this alone, I’d be in a sorry state indeed.

As I look at our 2009 edition of the Bellingham Review—a beauty that includes the prize winners from our 2008 contests, photography from several regional artists, and a plethora of quality poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction chosen from among the hundreds of manuscripts that flood our offices each year—I’m reminded that my community extends even further. I’m continually honored and thrilled to be a front-row witness to these writers and artists who strive, against all odds, to deepen our perception and understanding of the world. Our cover by Dale Gottlieb—an image of a rug she created incorporating the prophetic words of Jimi Hendrix—seems a fitting way to start off a year that sees a new president taking office, a year where we might uncover new sources of optimism, faith, and vigor.

Perhaps we can all make the effort to do something differently this time around, something that will make a difference. Perhaps we can all take “mini-sabbaticals” during our busy weeks, even if it’s just a moment or two where we pause to take stock, to remember what’s important. Perhaps a journal like the Bellingham Review—or one of many other excellent literary reviews—can be a good excuse for sitting down with a cup of tea and finding inspiration for work of your own.

As always, I thank you for your readership, your support, and your presence in our world. It would be very lonely here without you.