The new year is upon us. Whoopdefreakin' do.
Time was, I'd be hip deep in good intentions about now. Some years involved actual lists on legal pads. 101 Ways to Fix Myself. Items ranged from losing a zillion pounds to discovering the meaning of life. Doomed, of course. All doomed.
One of the good things about getting older is accepting oneself, growing comfortable in one's own skin. One comes to view the good parts and the gnarly bits alike with a mild, detached interest. Which makes the whole resolution thing much less strenuous.
This year, I have only two resolutions. One is to spend more time looking forward and less looking back. I cling too tightly to the past, I really do. The other is to spiff up the yard a bit. Maybe drive out the moles and pull out those overgrown bushes. The neighbors will be so pleased.
OK. There. I'm good.