There's too much pressure in this post, the last of the year. I feel as if I need to make some profound summary of the past twelve months, proclaiming lessons learned from the good and the bad that 2011 dished out. But I'm only here out of obligation...and fear of regret that I didn't ceremoniously wrap it up. So I'll give it a go.
When I lived alone, I would take great pains to reflect and resolve at New Year's. I would enjoy the silence and settle in under the luxurious weight of another year that was devoted to...me. I would look forward to the next cycle with renewed optimism and go to bed happy that the chalkboard had been erased and was ready for new scribbles. Now? I don't really have the energy. I am happy to just go to bed with that chalkboard illegible and dusty, as long as I'm in bed putting the day behind me.
I spend most of my days wishing for tomorrow. If I'm at work, I'm counting the minutes until I can go home. When I'm home, I'm picking out clothes and lunches for the next work day. If it's a day off, I'm looking for the next one to get to the end of the never-ending to-do list. It's appalling how much of my time is spent wishing it away. And now that the year is a mere 93 minutes from its end, I'm looking for the ball to drop so I can get on with the new one already. Control issues are a wondrous thing, no? I've tricked myself into thinking I can be prepared for anything if I just spend all my time waiting for it to get here.
My daughter may have picked up this bad habit. Every night as I tuck her in she asks, "What's tomorrow?" She needs to go to bed knowing who will be with her the next day, who will play with her, teach and protect her. I always answer and she goes to bed assured that she has another day coming, one that won't surprise her because she has a handle on it. I will put another deposit in her future therapy fund.
I have no idealistic projections for the new year. No lofty goals in the spotlight of squeaky-clean optimism. My only resolution is to not ignore today. I know I will keep up my prep work. I will always try to be ready for tomorrow, provided that I'm fortunate enough for it to come, but not at the expense of the here and now. Forget the erasers; I'm losing the chalkboard altogether. I won't be tempted to be lost in a haze of chalkdust from frantic list-making.
I am still looking forward to going to bed just after midnight. But I have this minute right here to sign off and sit with my husband, listening to my girl snoring in the next room. What's tomorrow? We'll have to wait and see...
