A new year, a new start. Don’t we all say that just after the clock strikes midnight on New Year’s Eve? Even if we don’t speak it out loud, it’s in our hearts. Everyone wants a new start, a do-over, if you will. A chance to shed our sins, our failures, our disappointments and our bad selves. Like the New Years’ baby we want a future filled with bright promise and adoration.
Unlike the New Years’ baby, though, we’ve got a lifetime already lived — which we tend to find wanting, hence the New Years resolutions — and, generally, we’ve come to find that adoration is reserved specifically for babies and movie stars. The one by default and the other because we’re envious. Add a new resolution.
This year, I’ve resolved to be happy with who I am, and with what my life is. It’s a pretty good life, on most accounts. I’ve got a family whom I love and who loves me in return. I’ve got great friends to share my stories with, and who accept my sometimes-strangeness with kindly laughter. I have a decent job that — most days — makes me feel like I’m contributing something to the world, rather than just taking from it. I love my home, money-pit though it is, and am grateful to live here. There is so much abundance in my life, and sometimes I forget that.
This year, I resolve not to.