I believe many of us like to think we’re glass-half-empty people. Doesn’t a sort of world-weariness make us seem, oh, more sophisticated? More realistic? Cock-eyed optimism … doesn’t the “cock-eyed” tell us all we need to know about optimists?

Certainly, in the news biz, where we document famine and pestilence and death and destruction, optimists are civilians. Non-journos. Blind to the awful conditions in which we live.

Hence, looking back on any year ought to leave us with a profound sense of “thank goodness that’s over.”

Yet I can’t say that. I can’t. And not really mean it. As much as I would like to.

For a bunch of reasons.

No one close to me died this year. People left us, lots of them good people, people who I knew or admired … but no one in my immediate family. None of my friends. The older you get, the less for-granted you take this. And now it’s the first thing I think about. If I want to say something to someone who really matters to me, it’s still not too late.

I was gainfully employed all year. Couldn’t say that for the two previous years. Not all 12 months. For a print journalist of my generation to have a job, even halfway around the world, well, I am not going to diminish that. It’s huge. And it’s rare, as that New York Times story notes.

I’ll expand on the job. Many times this year, maybe even for most of it, on any given day I reached a point where I 1) felt nearly overwhelmed by what needed to be done in the next few hours; 2) was leaking adrenaline; 3) was ticked that I/we didn’t do a better job than we did; and 4) got so wrapped up in the work that nothing else could fight its way into my consciousness. That may not be a good way to live your life, but it pretty much defines a good journalism job. Where you feel (correctly or otherwise) that if you don’t perform, something dire is going to happen to the newspaper, and you feel a deep sense of commitment to the process and have about 100 ideas for how to make it better. Which at root is a sense of feeling needed. And in the work place, that is a very good place to be, and I was in that place for most of the year. In my head, anyway.

One more job-related thought before moving on: Those of us who have paying jobs in print journalism, well we know we are lucky. Lots and lots of good journos are still out there, looking, and some have given up and gone elsewhere. And maybe they like what they do, but journalism is a calling, and I really wonder how that “happy doing something else” works. I hadn’t figured it out. Further, we happen to work at a newspaper that (as far as we know) is not failing and is not about to have another round of cost-driven layoffs. Being able to go into the office and worry about tomorrow’s newspaper rather than “who’s gone in the next round of cuts?” … well, sometimes we at The National don’t appreciate that enough. The truth is, none of us thinks about that, and not-thinking about layoffs is a gift I celebrated all year.

We had three vacations that ranged from grand to wonderful. Not trying to be obnoxious here, because I’ve been on vacations that sucked. These three happened to work out wonderfully. First to Italy, which I hadn’t really seen in 20 years, and Leah’s parents meeting us in Rome and a week overlooking the sea at a little town named Massa Lubrense, with great food, and Leah’s father trying to teach us strategy in Texas Hold’em poker late at night, and one of Leah’s best friends joining us; an adventure here or there (Sorrento Peninsula mountain roads to Ravello) and lots of Italian countryside, and wandering through the eerie streets of Pompeii and meeting up with more relatives in Sicily … pretty much all excellent. Trip No. 2, to Paris to meet my daughters, which was grand, and celebrate a birthday and a graduation. Hanging out, chatting, some great meals, a night with Leah’s French friends that turned into a multicultural treat. … And Trip No. 3, back to Paris, with a week in the south of France where we indulged our hopes (fantasy?) of buying a pied a terre down in Languedoc, then back up the City of Light for two weeks with Leah’s parents, and a birthday in a Christian Constant restaurant, and entertaining in our friend Mary’s apartment (thanks again, Mary), in October, and it rained only one day.

A full year outside the country. My first. At times, it was a test, but most of it was seeing other people and other ways and comparing and contrasting, and that’s a form of education. The country I live in is a Rainbow Coalition of nationalities and ways of dress and thinking and eating. I learn something new every day, and on many of them I see something I’d never seen before.

The U.S. tying England in the World Cup, which was just huge when you work in a department that is overwhelmingly British, and Landon Donovan scoring in the final minute against Algeria to give the Americans first place in their World Cup group.

And the Lakers not only won another NBA title, they did it by beating the Celtics. In Game 7. After trailing by 13 points in the second half.  Doesn’t get much better than that for an L.A. sports fan. Lakers win, Celtics lose. Perfect.

The Giants winning a World Series for the first time in 56 years. If I were back in Long Beach this probably would have ticked me off, but at a remove the Giants seem almost hometown, and they were a likable, overachieving team. Plus, I have some cousins in The City who were excited to bits, as were a few former co-workers.

Covering the domestic soccer league, here in the UAE, which was like discovering a whole new world of rivalries and history and arcane knowledge, and organizing coverage for the Fifa Club World Cup, and doing some of it myself — that was more fun than I anticipated. (Inter Milan may seem to be struggling in Seria A, but they looked pretty darn good the two nights I saw them play. And I still would love to have a TP Mazembe shirt with the team shield — a crocodile eating a soccer ball.)

Moving into a nicer and bigger apartment and paying less for it, not going hungry, not being seriously ill, the wonders of Skype and Kindle (I’ve got a whole post on Jack Reacher coming up), arguing baseball and basketball with people back home …

It was a good year. I feel as if I would be hipper or more interesting if I said it was awful, that it was about crises and bad times and desperate situations … but it wasn’t. Not even. Not nearly. Those will come, I know. Which is why I am thankful for what 2010 was about, and ultimately must admit I’m sad to see it go.