It may not come as a surprise, but I don’t care for new year’s resolutions. That’s not to say you shouldn’t have one. By all means, go for it if you find it useful. Personally, I become fed up with the idea of waiting for the new year. If there’s something you want to do, do it; don’t wait. So this year, I thought instead of using the time to think of this year’s revelations. What have I learned? What have I experienced?
I completed a 150 mile bike ride. I started doing yoga. Took a writing workshop. Have begun to plan out a novel. Was nominated for a Pushcart prize. Lost 25 lbs. Gained new friends. Reconnected with old ones. Visited my family in Michigan and Hawaii. Started playing tennis again.
These aren’t revelations; they’re things that have happened. So what are my revelations? I value my friends and family. It’s never too late to try new things. Writing is a part of my life. They sound cliche. Maybe that is a revelation in itself. Things can be cliche and still matter.
This next year is going to be the year of art. I’ve begun to paint and draw again. Also, in the spirit of new experiences will be taking a glass blowing class. Just the other day I was talking about how most people love creating art as kids, but then as we age, we leave that stuff behind. It’s like without a perfect result or object, the process is discounted. Why? Why not have fun? So, whether what I make is terrible or pleasing, isn’t going to matter to me. I will enjoy sitting at my drafting desk, hearing the water circulate through the radiators in my home, while the snow spins in swirls outside. I will let my pens and pencils move across the paper as images take shape, half formed and unfinished while I become lost in thought watching the window frames shake with the wind. You may not be able to frame an experience and hang it above the mantle, but it beats the dull glare of television and the sounds of a laugh track echoing off the walls.