I visited a Cistercian monastery, in Vina, Calif., this past summer. I was writing a story both on their strict monastic life and, rather amusingly and surprisingly, their burgeoning winery business.

During an interview with one of the priests, I asked him for something the average Joe could take away from the monastic way of life (without praying seven times a day, vowing to a life of poverty, or committing to celibacy).

He told me he thought that reflection was paramount. Silence and solitude, which are important aspects of the monastery’s specific contemplative order, are worth a lot in every day life, he said. Even just turning off the radio when you are driving, he suggested, is a good way to be alone with your thoughts.

I couldn’t think of a time when the radio in my car had ever been off.

My talk with the priest on the importance of thinking got me thinking, contemplating, even. As the end of 2007 morphs into the sparkling hopefulness of 2008, and as this is my last column, it seemed a pertinent moment to ruminate and reflect on the past year — or last few years, really, since so much of my life has been bereft of active reflecting.

First, I’ve learned a lot about biking. Save yourself a two-inch stripe of wet mud on your back and get a rear-wheel tire fender. Get your brakes checked, friggin’ yield and don’t make hard turns over a pile of wet leaves.

I’ve also learned that saying ‘hi’ and saying ‘sorry’ are worth a lot. The duck and cover, I-hope-they-didn’t-see-me act always ends in them calling you out on it, or just postponing the run-in for a later, worse-timed meeting. Also, a sincere apology is sometimes all I want, or all I can give. Not an “OMG, I am sooooo sorry”; just a plain ol’ from the heart ‘sorry.’

I’ve learned a lot about saying ‘no’ and saying ‘yes.’ Saying yes leads to adventures, new friends, things you never thought could happen. Saying no, however, is what mature, grown-up people do when they know what their priorities are, who they are, and what they actually want. The hardest part of all, however, is picking between the two.

I’ve learned that superglue doesn’t work on fabric, that flossing is even better for you than brushing, and that shots take a while to kick in, so hold your horses and wait before you go for the next round.

I think I’ve learned that the world is generally a judgmental place. My improv TA once told me life is 10 percent what you say, 20 how you say it and 70 percent how you look. Call me a cynic, but I have only found it to be true.

With close friends, I’ve learned again and again that down-home, for-reals honesty really is the best policy. Even the smallest twists of truth only lead to awkward confrontations or out-of-control webs of future tiny dishonesties.

I’ve learned that even though we all have to whine from time to time, complaining is wearisome to listen to and doesn’t really accomplish much of anything.

I’ve learned to appreciate the proximity of Stanford. Mirrielees to Narnia really isn’t that far. People drive half an hour, or even an hour, to work every day. Friends will soon be on the other side of the country, or the world, not to mention significant others and family. The five minute bike-ride — albeit sometimes made in the rain and the cold — is a luxury of campus closeness.

I’ve learned that I generally worry too much about what other people are thinking. Study after sociological study shows that people pay half as much notice to us that we think they do. It really wasn’t as awkward as we thought, you didn’t look as bad as you swore you did, and you didn’t embarrass yourself as thoroughly as you assumed. (Why not break out the big hair, high high heels and over-the-top earrings?)

I am getting better at identifying the gems — the gems of friends, of boyfriends, of classes. They don’t come strolling into your life every day, so when they do surface, you’ve got to jump on them and tackle them down, and then relish the time you have.

More often than I’d like to admit, I’ve learned that there is nothing better to do when you are really, truly embarrassed than just reveling in your gracelessness. Spilt tray in the dining hall? Spit food while talking? A fall to the face? Take a bow and laugh, because nothing much can fix those blunders.

I’ve learned sometimes, a little alone in-the-car time does the brain good.

So here’s to reflecting about the past, contemplating the here and now, and thinking toward the future.

Katie is now an opinions editor at The Daily but hopes to continue to be odd and idiosyncratic even though her column is kaput.