Getting started

To Resolute or not to Resolute, that is the question . . .

After last year, I’m a little gun shy. Everything planned, went quite alarmingly unplanned; any goodness, wildly out of my control. Strangest (and most frustrating) thing ever. Of course, sometimes the best thing to do when thrown  from your horse is to get back up, dust yourself off, and jump right back in the saddle.

Still, I’m thinking of moving to a pony.

With that, I’m going small on the resolutions this year. They’re like toddler goals–wee, a bit wobbly, but oh-so full of potential . . .

1. Learn something new. Seeing how I do this pretty much every day, whether for work or out of curiosity, I’m a winner already! Sure, you may call it cheating; I call it awesome with a side of awesome sauce.

2. Begin each morning in prayer; end each day in thanksgiving. Don’t get me wrong–I’ve prayed a lot over the last few years . . . for me, my friends and family, and their friends and family. But it’s been here and there, willy-nilly. While there’s nothing wrong with this–in fact, I think it’s a good thing to be in a constant state of prayerfulness, I think there’s something in taking time. Also, I need to get out of the funk of focusing on need or disappointments, rather than blessing. If the first two days are any indication, this will be the hardest of my resolutions. Pitiful on so many levels.

3. Write more. Ah, the infamous writing goal. You’ll be glad to know I’m propping this one up this year: starting mid-January, a friend and I will be meeting once a week to discuss our writing progress. We’re meeting on Tuesday evenings–a day typically bypassed by fun and frivolity, but in the odd event it gets it gets an invitation, we’ll move our meeting to Thursday. How’s that for impressive? Also, my brother bought me Scrivener for Christmas (why yes, I did cry–however did you know?), so now I can plug in my myriad starts and stops and (dare I say it?) actually finish something!

 4. Curate imagination. Seems a bit sad this needs to be a resolution when it used to be second nature. But I desperately want to get back to having a wee notebook everywhere I go–a place to jot words and ideas, mannerisms and characteristics, photos and landscapes–seeds of a big ol’ oak of a story. You just never know where you might happen upon a hint of inspiration . . . something like this old pitcher, for instance . . .

I’m pretty sure a fair maiden poured water from a pitcher just like this, to refresh her poor, paltry pony. Little did she know, magic swirled within its waters.

But that’s another story, for another time.

I will say,  however, that we mustn’t mock the seemingly insignificant. No matter how big our shoes at the end, we all start small; no matter how powerful, we begin quite feeble. The key, my friends, is to start and to try and try again. . .