Last night I watched "Dancing With the Stars" with my mom. The theme for the evening was "my favorite year," and I was very touched by some of the dancers' presentations and stories. A couple even brought me to tears.

I awoke before the alarm went off this morning. As I lay there in the dark, my husband leaned up against me, my cats tucked in around my legs and feet, I realized I was wondering what MY favorite year has been. Surely there is a favorite among the 50-odd years I've passed through so far. These dancers could choose one, so surely I could too. I began sorting through my experiences.

Nancy Grace chose the year her children were born. Definitely a significant event. She chose that year even though she and one of the babies almost died at childbirth. What about the year my only child came along? I remember the ease of giving birth, the joy of meeting my daughter and watching her grow. I also well recall the unrelenting exhaustion as I learned to juggle work, school, marriage and motherhood, and the death of my father one month before my baby's first birthday. No, not my favorite year.

Okay, what about the year I got married? Either time? I was so happy planning my wedding to Mike. We were poor students, but I found just the right dress for next to nothing, designed my own invitations, and we had a lovely fall wedding at my parents' house on The Mountain with my best friend Elaine by my side, my cousin at the piano, our immediate families gathered round. By the end of that first year, though, I was convinced that God sent some people to Earth to be happy, and some to suffer, and I was among the latter. No, still not my favorite year.

I was more happy the day I married Ed. We didn't go to the expense of a family wedding - we'd both been married before, after all. Instead, we planned a fun weekend in Eureka Springs at an historic bed and breakfast. We were married by the owner of the vintage photography shop where we had our pictures made, each of us dressed in our lovely turn-of-the-century costumes. I will always carry that weekend in my heart. But maybe not that year, since I spent most of it locked in a bitter court battle with Mike for custody of our little girl. A year with good days, but probably not a favorite.

Right now I think my favorite year was my very first in New York. Ed found us the perfect little apartment in Brooklyn. For the first time in my life I wasn't worried about money - we both had good jobs. We went out every week, to museums, concerts, jazz bars, plays, Central Park. We ate breakfast every Saturday at a little neighborhood diner, discovered the myriad offerings of the street vendors in Manhattan. We quickly felt like New Yorkers. It had been traumatic to leave Arkansas. My daughter didn't want to come with us, preferring the familiarity of her little hometown in Arkansas, It broke my heart to leave her, but I looked forward to sharing the City with her when she visited. We wound up not having nearly enough of those visits, and I spent a small fortune periodically flying home to Arkansas to see her and everyone else. Which brings me back to the present...

Will this year turn out to be my favorite, when I look back on it somewhere down the road? I began it fretting over whether I would EVER get back to Arkansas to take care of my mother, be with my daughter, get to know my granddaughter. In every conversation with them I heard of another missed opportunity to be together. At the same time I was heartsick knowing that coming home to them would mean leaving my home in New York, the city and people I have come to love so much. Every day I struggled with the knowledge that gaining the one would mean giving up the other. So every day I found myself saying goodbye to something about the City, savoring, lingering over mundane experiences. Would this be my last walk in this park, down that street? My last smell of sea air, my last snowstorm? Will I ever see Lizzy the wild turkey in Battery Park again? Play with the Johnson triplets? Hug my friend Cherry, hear Pres. Nelson sing in church? Will this be the last time I have to drive around for half an hour looking for a place to park late at night? The last ride home in a livery car, tired from a late night at work but enthralled by the lights and sounds of the City? It's been such an emotional experience. Will this someday be my favorite year? Perhaps.

"Favorite" doesn't have to mean "most perfect." It's the best because something memorable happened, because I made a life-changing decision for all the right reasons. I'm spending time daily with my mother, seeing my daughter and granddaughter every week, and getting to know myself better in the process. It's been a very good year.