I’ve been partial to this song for a little bit.

 

Resolutions are the easy part. Actually resolving something? Totally different story.

A resolution made for the beginning of the year is as simple as hanging up a new calendar. Resolving means clearing out the garden of all the winter crap before it is time to plant that year’s crop.

Maybe that’s what December was always supposed to have been about: clearing out the garden. Then it was about shopping and spending time with those you have shopped for and eating and drinking and contesting with families and timetables and travel logistics. By the time the first round of festivities calms down, it isn’t any wonder that we’re all dying for a drink to ring in the new year.

***

This year was rife with anxiety.

Personally. Globally.

We all felt it directly. And when it wasn’t’ direct, we all felt it come through as the static of a thousand problems scrolling past our feed as fast as our thumb could move them. Being laid off and scrambling for the next steps didn’t exactly start the new year on a great note. While an inheritance from a family member who passed was far from a solution, it helped provide a breath of air and a chance to find the next solid step.

I’ve also gotten back into taking a regular dose of Tyrosine each morning. It is easy to say anxiety is all in the head. Chemicals, though, always seem to help.

My journaling process has become an affair involving three books. I’ll write about it more extensively in the future. I have a book for yesterday, a book for today, and a third one that hangs on to all of the distracting, flaming wreck of ideas that always accompany a wet quill.

Looking ahead.
I could claim wanting some kind of health or fitness or physique. But I haven’t stood on a scale in months. The shape in the mirror looks the same after four weeks of training as it does four weeks of not.

In the past few months, I’ve considered the health between the ears. Brains, psyches, consciousness. A million different asanas and reps on a machine wont do much of anything if I’m feeling the dread of a low ocean. If that’s what I’m feeling without the aid of psychotropics, then I can only imagine what the rest of the world is dealing with.

Into the next year: no more feeding the fires. There is a world beyond sharing inflammatory articles on political or social whateverness.  Overall – less news. I’m getting the Sunday Times delivered each week to take in the news at a slower pace, a smaller font, and without a thread of comments from the common man strung below them.

Daily Stoic: This has been one of those books that have been trapped on my Kindle for months. Jumping from one passage to another whenever a flight goes for an hour longer or my appointment gets bumped another. I’ve set up all the reminders to ensure I approach this text every morning with my journal. The book is set up in 365 sections to be a daily minder pending on the seasons.

Above all – sleep. More of it, better. What is the point of working endlessly if you’re too tired to enjoy the times not spent working?