I don’t like making resolutions in January because my life is not my own that time of year. I belong to a job from August to May. January doesn’t even feel like the start of a new year. It’s just a continuation of the current school year. May is when I actually have a slim chance of reinventing myself for the next year.
Yet I can’t bring myself to make resolutions even now. This has been a bear of a year, and I’m all out of resolve.
I can probably scrap together some frayed and fragile edges of hopes, though. Even that seems questionable. The school year might be at an end, but responsibilities still loom. What am I supposed to say for my resolutions or my hopes? Get this done, get that done? Fun.
And then of course there is this truly looming thing of the oil blob that could decide to attack my state at any point. Maybe anything I might choose right now as a summer goal would change if I were suddenly to be overcome with the need to volunteer, or if I were to become immobilized by depression over the destruction of our coastline.
Still, I guess I do have some wish-I-woulds. I wish I would exercise more, get my house in order, and find some time to relax. I wish I would find some time to write fiction and poetry. I wish I would learn more about my camera. I wish I would set aside some days for fun with children. I wish I would go to the beach with my camera before the oil arrives.
As one of my niece’s friends put it quite aptly, I’m still paying alimony to the gym though we’ve been divorced for a while. I wish I would make an attempt to reconcile.
It’s impossible, though, to do all I wish. I’m just going to take it one thing at a time. For today, I’ve been puttering around the house pretending to clean. There’s no visible proof I’m having an effect yet, but I have aspirations for the next few days.