I don't make New Year's resolutions. Not formal ones, anyway, either aloud or written. My mind, however, reels from the possibilities for personal growth and betterment of the world, but I astutely avoid committing change to print. When I was Catholic, I had some success with Lent as a time for change and successfully started flossing regularly after applying myself during this season of repentance and abstinence. One change to make, six weeks to establish a habit. It worked for me.
Being a bit of a curmudgeon regarding detail and personal perfection, listing my promises for the new year (a point which seems rather arbitrary to me, but that's another post), seemed a sure ticket to failure. And I really despise personal failure. When the resolutions remain nebulous in my head, failure seems further away. If I never really committed to X, Y, and Z, can I really fail to do them?
Yes. Nine days into a new year, I have yet to start writing seriously and regularly, read the back issues of American Family Practice journal (and submit the quizzes for continuing medical education credits), actually practice a spiritual practice daily, or clean my cupboards and pantry. I've settled issues with children in less than spirit-respecting ways, nibbled and noshed when not hungry, and, despite Lenten promises a decade old, failed to floss regularly. And I feel the failures deeply.
Fortunately, I'm making significant progress staying in the moment. This moment, as my fingers type these words, is the only moment I have. When I stew over my many perceived failures or anticipate tomorrow being a more productive/loving/dental hygiene minded day, I miss now. Now is when I have some quiet time to write. Now is when I can respond to the seemingly endless interruptions from kids in a way that respects their essence while still honoring mine. Now I can take a breath, then another, then another, feeling my breath rise and fall. In this moment, for this moment, I can be in the Now, fully experiencing life as I live it. No revisions of the past (that can't be made in reality) and now promises for tomorrow (what can we truly promise about the future?).
Happy Now.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
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