Twenty-six.

How do you measure a year in the life?525,600 minutes. 8,760 hours. 365 days. 52 weeks. 12 months.

More drinks than I can count. Ten partners. Two broken hearts, both my own. (One regretted.)

Two therapists. 10 milligrams of Lexapro, once a day.

Two blogs. 121 Yelp reviews. 517 Facebook friends. 5,530 tweets. Text messages? Don't even go there.

One apartment break-in. Two locks changed.

Thousands of miles flown; hundreds of miles biked; 30 miles run and easily five times as many walked.

One long-awaited overseas trip booked.

Yesterday, I said a quiet, contented farewell to my 25th year: Simple, sunny Easter brunch with my sister; a brisk bike ride to drinks with a good friend; cookies from scratch; 13 Going on 30; early to sleep. The last couple of hours of my evening were spent on the phone with close friends, family I miss dearly and current objects of my affection.

After 365 days of tumult and heartache — a manic, frenzied journey that began with Yelp Prom and traversed emotional peaks and valleys I didn't know existed — I reached April 12, 2009, ready for something different. (Healthier. Calmer. More focused.)

How about love?