Nothing quite says ‘Happy New Year’ like a dashing fellow sporting a finely kept mustache, leaning ever so gingerly upon a vase of brightly hued blooms, holding a piglet.
Ah, vintage postcards . . .
The older I get the more I find solace in their quirkiness. It’s as if those of the past whisper, “Never fear, love–we had crazy, too.”
Speaking of which, if I had to choose a word for 2018, that would be it: crazy. From headlines to all manner of “offense,” it seemed positively batty. And rather than ignore it (as I’m wont to do), I chose to spiral down the rabbit hole . . . reading articles and posts from both sides of debate; scratching my head, shaking my head, and, occasionally, bursting forth in nervous laughter.
Here’s what I learned from the whole experience: that will never do.
So my goal for 2019 is quite simple. I intend to step off the crazy train.
To start, we’ve cancelled cable. We intend to fill those hours reading and writing, maybe partaking in a rousing game of cribbage, or hand and foot.
And I plan to be more intentional. To do what I can, where I am: to shake off excess; organize; have faith; keep in touch.
Do wish me luck. It certainly won’t be smooth sailing; after all, I spent a good year being appalled into inaction; and therefore, something of a flake. . . . also, I’ve already lost the address book I purchased.
But I’m nothing if not determined.
With that, I return the favor. Happy New Year, my friend–and best of luck to you!