I can’t say I’ll miss this year. Not because it has been bad – it hasn’t – but because I’m ready for a few changes. I want to be more true to myself. Is that so much to ask?
More of what I care about. In my career I have proven to myself over the last 25 years that my passion is helping the abused of society. Not those who simply claim “abuse” from positions and environments which most envy, but those with whom no one wants to trade and most want to forget, or not experience in the first place. I want – I need – to help those people. Because, to borrow a phrase from a friend who was once there, those people have names. They are real, and they can see me avoiding eye contact. So it’s time to get back to work on things that matter. Frankly, I don’t care whether they are christian, muslim, gay, straight, drunk, sober, sinner or . . . wait, there’s no options here, or whatever else. My mission is to help the abused. I didn’t choose it – I was chosen by ‘those people.’ Or God. Maybe both.
More of what I enjoy. My family. I really like them. I want to spend more time with them instead of spending my evenings with politicians throwing pointed words at one another. I enjoy fly-fishing, archery, and I have taken up the cello. There is a zen-like beauty to these arts involving string and carved and bent wood. I enjoy motorcycle travel and travel in general. I’m arguably in the second half of my life, and its time to do it if its going to done. No bucket list. I want to seize the day as things appear in my bucket, instead of letting them grow stale there until the opportunity has passed.
As I sit in my study writing this, listening to some calm Radiohead, the sun is coming out from behind the morning clouds and beams are flooding my room with it’s books and desks and bows and arrows and cello.
It is going to be a good year. I insist.