I AM A PERSON of resolution. I love nothing more than a full list of prioritized intentions and a clean, white January slate on which to write them. I mean: What can be better than a fresh start? A new beginning? An opportunity to do it all better?
It is a ridiculous practice, mostly. This I know. Yet every year I cannot help myself. And as the sun set yesterday, its last time in 2018, I pulled my journal from my backpack and sat down to make my 2019 resolution list.
A funny thing happened. A new thought came to me.
What if, the thought began. What if you first took a few minutes to consider the things you accomplished this year.
But that’s not…my little mind argued.
What if, the thought insisted. (It was clearly not listening to me.) What if before you write (1) LOSE TEN POUNDS (2) EXERCISE EVERY DAY (3) DRINK MORE WATER for the tenth year in a row, what if you made a list of the things you did this year that you are proud of?
I can’t do that, I thought, that’s not the exercise. I picked up the journal, 2019 bearing down.
I turned to a new page. I watched as my mechanical pencil wrote across the top:
It started writing, and writing and writing, and things came out like Loving Daddy well through Alzheimers (#1); Doubled down on writing (#2); Discovered I am Enneagram 9 (#9); Took Eliza’s advice (#13). On and on the listing went, coming easy and fast, filled with memories and reminders of the things that made up my days, of the things that, to me, mattered most.
THERE WILL BE a 2019 Resolutions list, you can be sure. And it will go on a clean white sheet right up front in my brand spanking new orange bullet journal. (Lose ten pounds will again hold Spot 1, I can promise.) But for now I am content, fully satisfied, soaking in the fullness of my 2018 review; considering, for the moment, the surround of the many things (great and small and very small) that make up a year, that make up a life, that are the work of life, itself.