Ahhhh. A brand new year. The beginning of another end. A time for resolutions and resolution!
I love making resolutions. Here are some of mine:
1. Feed vegetables to the children and answer their questions with a reasonable attempt at consistency.
2. Ignore global events that make me sad. And then, after a day or so, pay very close attention.
3. Eat fewer cookies.
4. Eat more legumes. Because I love that word.
5. Spend more time alone.
6. Spend more time with kids.
7. Spend more time with dear husband.
8. Spend more time with dear friends.
9. Spend more time walking through snowy woods, sitting on a cold beach, gazing at a half-frozen pond, drinking wine and eating cheese and laughing just the way I used to every day.
10. Read books originally written in a language different than my own.
11. Notice the dogs.
12. Attend more bonfires. They’re good for my skin. And soul.
13. Don’t watch movies I have no interest in. (You’d think this would be easy. It’s not.)
10. Publish a novel.
That last one? That’s been my resolution for the past four years. And no, I’ve yet to reach it. I’ve written plenty of novels. I’ve revised plenty of novels. But publish? No. Not yet. I tack it on to the list, though, every year, because…. Well. I don’t really know. But it would feel like defeat if it wasn’t there.
I know, I know. You’re thinking I’m nuts to put so many crazy demands on myself. “Relax,” you want to tell me. “Life is short! Eat those cookies!” And you don’t have to worry. I love making resolutions, but rarely do I keep them. Those cookies? Fear not. They will be devoured. But for a few days I revel in that surge of possibility, that I will be svelte, accomplished, satisfied, just because I decided so. That’s what resolutions are all about, for me. Not change. The possibility of change.
Beginnings – love them. Love the idea of not yet having tripped. Not yet having questioned myself. That comes later; it has to for anything to get any sort of good. But in the beginning there is just me and whatever comes out. And often I’m entertained. And sometimes I’m scared. And sometimes I’m disgusted. But mostly I’m happy for the chance to try.
I wish for you many, many beginnings.