It’s that time of the year when some of us vow to make changes.
I have always loved New Year’s resolutions. More accurately, I have always loved the resolving part of the process. Following through on all my noble goals has proved to be less fun than listing the steps to the perfect me on an open, clean page.
I nearly made a list of dramatic resolutions in my journal this year, too. As the Earth was finishing its path around the sun and the year’s calendar was clicking down to its end, I sat poised with my pen above my page.
Who do I want to be in 2012? How can I make that happen? I want to be thinner and more athletic. I contemplated writing “Lose 100 pounds” to start my list. I want to finish my book. I want to pitch the finished manuscript to as many agents as it takes to land one. I want to be a terrific mother to Andrew. I want to have more energy and exuberance for my relationship with Jay. I want to build a bigger and better community through this blog. I want to connect with more people living with chronic illness. I want to beat sarcoidosis this year. I want to be well. I want to be more attuned to the needs of my friends. I want to get out more—in the community, in Andrew’s school, on hiking trails. I want to be in less pain. I want to be happier. I want to learn how to french braid my hair. I want to be a better daughter and daughter-in-law. I want to read more of the Russian masters.
In the midst of this feeding frenzy of self-improvement—that was quickly giving way to self-denigration—one beautiful, perfect, healing thought rose above the din and demanded to be heard.
STOP.
Indeed.
It would be great if I could drop enough weight to feel healthier. Finishing my book would be wonderful. So would feeling well enough to enact any of the resolutions that rose up within me. But is it a lack of resolve that prevents me from volunteering, exercising or healing? If only a lack of trying was what keeps me from health, wealth, and happiness. Unfortunately, there is that pesky little thing called reality. And my reality prevents me from self-actualizing myself to perfection. It does for all of us.
I didn’t want to leave the page in my journal blank, though. I don’t want to give up trying. I just want to be trying for the right goals.
What would make a “good” year? Will I look back on 2012 with a sense of peace if I’m thinner and more productive, with a kick-ass braid swinging down my back? Will finishing my book—and then selling it—somehow still the swimming sharks within me?
Probably not.
But what would?
Then it hit me. The words poured from my heart, through my hand, and onto the page.
My hope for this year is that I can be fully and deeply alive in the days I am given.
It’s not much of a resolutions list, but it is resolution. It’s a moment of clarity in a complicated reality. And for that, I am grateful.
What are your hopes for the coming year?
It’s that time of the year when some of us vow to make changes.
I have always loved New Year’s resolutions. More accurately, I have always loved the resolving part of the process. Following through on all my noble goals has proved to be less fun than listing the steps to the perfect me on an open, clean page.
I nearly made a list of dramatic resolutions in my journal this year, too. As the Earth was finishing its path around the sun and the year’s calendar was clicking down to its end, I sat poised with my pen above my page.
Who do I want to be in 2012? How can I make that happen? I want to be thinner and more athletic. I contemplated writing “Lose 100 pounds” to start my list. I want to finish my book. I want to pitch the finished manuscript to as many agents as it takes to land one. I want to be a terrific mother to Andrew. I want to have more energy and exuberance for my relationship with Jay. I want to build a bigger and better community through this blog. I want to connect with more people living with chronic illness. I want to beat sarcoidosis this year. I want to be well. I want to be more attuned to the needs of my friends. I want to get out more—in the community, in Andrew’s school, on hiking trails. I want to be in less pain. I want to be happier. I want to learn how to french braid my hair. I want to be a better daughter and daughter-in-law. I want to read more of the Russian masters.
In the midst of this feeding frenzy of self-improvement—that was quickly giving way to self-denigration—one beautiful, perfect, healing thought rose above the din and demanded to be heard.
STOP.
Indeed.
It would be great if I could drop enough weight to feel healthier. Finishing my book would be wonderful. So would feeling well enough to enact any of the resolutions that rose up within me. But is it a lack of resolve that prevents me from volunteering, exercising or healing? If only a lack of trying was what keeps me from health, wealth, and happiness. Unfortunately, there is that pesky little thing called reality. And my reality prevents me from self-actualizing myself to perfection. It does for all of us.
I didn’t want to leave the page in my journal blank, though. I don’t want to give up trying. I just want to be trying for the right goals.
What would make a “good” year? Will I look back on 2012 with a sense of peace if I’m thinner and more productive, with a kick-ass braid swinging down my back? Will finishing my book—and then selling it—somehow still the swimming sharks within me?
Probably not.
But what would?
Then it hit me. The words poured from my heart, through my hand, and onto the page.
My hope for this year is that I can be fully and deeply alive in the days I am given.
It’s not much of a resolutions list, but it is resolution. It’s a moment of clarity in a complicated reality. And for that, I am grateful.
What are your hopes for the coming year?