The time-honored practice of New Year's resolutions has never much appealed to me: while clearly there are things that can be, should be, done to improve my lot in life or some small aspects thereof, putting them down on paper (or screen) and then comparing notes at the end of the year has always seemed like an invitation to disappointment, and well, since when has disappointment ever needed an invitation?

Still, some things are going to happen this year. Some of them are due to the fact that I have departed the realm of the fortysomethings: as a new resident of the Land of AARP, I have some different options (and likely different responsibilities) on the table. But more of them stem from my venture into home ownership and the inevitable thousand natural shocks to my system that come with it: for instance, there are going to be times when I'd rather kick back and crank up the stereo, but that damn grass isn't going to mow itself.

As a creature of habit with marked control-freak tendencies, I don't take changes of this sort particularly well. Fortunately, these are the sort of changes I can't get away with postponing or ignoring; the payback for blowing them off ranges from minor inconvenience to major turmoil, and avoiding paybacks is always high on my to-do list. And God knows it won't hurt me to get some more sun — well into June, I tend to exhibit the uninspiring color of canned biscuits — so even the drudgery of yardwork is likely to do me some good.

And anyway, the human condition is never truly stable, unless you count that period spent in the pine box, which is not something I plan to do any time soon. Change, however uncomfortable, is the part of life that tells you you're not actually dead yet. I have only the vaguest idea what's in store for me over these next twelve months, but I've got to be ready for it when it happens. And that's about as much of a resolution as I'm ready to make just now. We'll see how this came out in (presumably) #419, about a year from now.

The Vent

#371
1 January 2004

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