December 28, 2013

I Can Deliver That.

The coming New Year's been tapping my shoulder, pulling on my blouse and prattling and tattling at me like the people with whom I live as soon as foot number two crosses the threshold of our house.

My response to the New Year is much like the one I give to those two people:  I swat and whisper at it Okay, okaaaay...Let me get my feet under me and then I can pay attention to you. I just need one moment. Just one. Please.

That was pretty much last year's response to the incoming year too.

In all rights, I owe an apology to 2013. Poor thing, it's been waiting for me to get my act together, develop some sense of clarity and attend to its needs like I promised way back in late Aught '12, but that still hasn't happened. I'm sorry, Outgoing Year, I really am.

So, to the New Year:
I feel you there with your tapping, pulling, prattling, tattling and pushing me to attend to your needs. I understand you think you need some goals or resolutions; and I get it, I really do. But if you'd just talk to any of the New Years prior, you would've heard that those resolutions and promises were futile to begin with.

Just go a little over a decade back and consult with 2000. It would give you a wink and nudge as it told you something about my big ol' decision to savor my freedom and travel when and where I wanted. To be the girl with the maxi-coat and matching cap that I'd fling in the air while some nondescript vanilla singer crooned:
You're gonna' make it after aa-aal...
Then it would giggle and say I started out really well...until I met the guy who would eventually become my husband. So much for freedom. Or travel. Or cap-flinging.

Then go on, skip ahead a little. Chat with 2003. It would out and out guffaw at my resolve to preserve my identity as a person. Not as my barely-month-old kid's mother. Not as my husband's wife, but as a person who had friends and an active nightlife before those two arrived on the scene.
It'd barely be able to talk through the laughs about how this resolve had me working full-time, making dinner soon as I walked in the door, WHILE attending to the baby AND THEN visiting my friend for weekly hangouts.

...and that's when 2004 would jump in and tell you how exhaustion made me throw in the towel on the preservation schmservation strategy after three short months and turned me into the person who swaps out work clothes for pajamas once I'm done with after-work dinner duty.
Occasional texts, Facebook messages and the all too rare lunch with friends would be enough to preserve relationships and whatever was left of the non-wife-non-mom part of me.

Neither 2011 nor 2012 would have much to report on resolutions, except they'd unanimously agree that I'm a dazed and crazy person by the end of December who cares more about sleep and quiet than I do planning for the next year.

Which brings me back to you, 2014:
Please expect a less than earth-shattering-breakthrough-aha-moment year from me. I promise -- nay, I resolve -- to deliver exactly that.

...and at least you'll be able to tell 2015 that I made a resolution and stuck to it.

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