“There’s a note underneath your front door that I wrote twenty years ago, yellow paper and a faded picture and a secret in an envelope…In the meantime, I’ll be waiting for twenty years and twenty more. I’ll be praying for redemption and your note underneath my door.”
While talking with a friend and asking about her holiday plans, I subsequently returned to memory lane and recalled the spontaneous trip I took to Shenandoah Valley at the beginning of 2012. The cold of that January morning never evades me. Although I slipped and took a partial dunk in a river, I was glad to start off a new year that way. But, hey, come to think of it…just what is it about the new year that could keep a smile on my face irregardless of a foot numbed by ice water?
The new years are all about changing things. Still, I wonder, just what is it about doing things differently that makes us associate it with a new set of 365 days? Have we become that linear, that cyclical, that we confine ourselves to the repetitive, looping pattern of 12 month sequences, so much so that we expect a few numbers will change the impact of crippled willpower? Is it that even I have walked about with eyes wide open, seeing 1997, 2003 or 2010 everywhere I went? What a nice reminder of my pending (and often failed) resolutions those 4 digit numbers would have been, assuring me that I had not been born in the BC era. Undoubtedly, for all this to occur, I would have had to spend my life in the clearance aisle of a party store most of my childhood, you know, the section where all the overstock garlands and sparkly hats and plastic champagne glasses are stuffed away only to be forgotten.
“The meaning of life is…42.”
Douglas Adam’s The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy
I had a dream in which I was flying through the universe. I could see the planets and everything, but for some reason I did not relay the awe likened to that of the characters in A Wrinkle in Time. I could see the simple product of God’s efforts (in progress, in action) of pasting and cutting corners and tending to details like a frustrated artist.
Somewhere between January 1st and December-ish something gets lost and such things start to fade. Enthusiasm dies. Relationships become a burden. Reality sets in once more, and it is that the new year simply marks the culmination of undisclosed days sprouting forth from prior 365-day segments that someone has experienced. There is nothing much more to the mathematics of life except the past + present = the future.
If numbers were at all like us, technology would have already crumbled, I do believe. Many things would crumble like the memories–at times, painful–of an old, fading year.
I did not want to slew off a list of new projects, and I doubted that I had enough time to accomplish my other idea of writing 2,013 cool things that I have done in my entire life.
This is my anti-new years resolution list, a list that states what I did right instead of what I want to do better:
I graduated from college
I kept up with my social media platforms, and even made some wonderful connections across the board
I gave away art
I sold some art too
I kept a journal for each year since 2010
I kept trying
I stayed alive
Even if there are many more things I could name, that list is good enough for me just as it is.