Sitting in the Spackle Manor living room while the visiting Major (Ret.) goes for a run and Mrs. M hits the grocery. The Spawn is reading stuff on the herPad (It clearly is not an iPad or even a wePad, but I don’t mind).
Sorry for having been AWOL for a couple of days, but I’m enjoying the time with family and friends at the turning of the year. Of course, the New Year is supposed to be a time for new beginnings and all that. I certainly expect it to contain some significant moments, but not of the sort of which resolutions are made.
There are certainly resolutions I should not only make, but fulfill, losing weight being chief among them. I’ve always been big, but I’m well into time-bomb country these days. Still, finding the resolve to, well, resolve seems to elude me. It reminds me of Johnson once again. Each year, he prayed for the strength to overcome what he saw as his indolence — to live up to what he saw as his “could-have-beens”. And each year marked another year in which he felt he had failed.
And I understand that prayer as well. “I could write more. I could do more scholarly work, more creative work. I could be better.” And instead, my Imp of the Perverse wins again. But how to face it without despairing? I don’t know if Johnson knew that one — his black dog pursued him through too much of his life, and I feel mine snuffling behind me too often.
But that’s a blind alley as well. All I can do is accept that the plan is there — the successes, the failures can be mine no more than in part, and the least substantial part at that. Regardless of my Imps or Idlers, Julian’s promise remains. Perhaps that’s what I should resolve to remember, and if I do, the rest might follow.
May your resolutions come more easily, and may your new year bring you Julian’s reassurance.