My year got off to a bit of a rocky start. I woke up on January 1st with a cold, so my planned resolutions–pray more, exercise, write daily, eat right, practice music, etc., etc.–all pretty much dissolved as I devolved into a miserable ball of soggy Kleenex and sneezes. I’ve spent much of the year thus far curled up on the couch, binge watching police procedurals on Netflix and sniffling.
So much for shiny starts.
I’m disappointed in myself and in the year. But you know, it may be just as well. Most years, I start off tiptoeing into the year, determined to keep it as perfect as possible as long as possible. This year–not to mix too many metaphors–I started straight off camping with 2015. I’ve seen it in its unwashed early morning state. I know it occasionally snores or chews with its mouth open.
Expectations have been lowered, perhaps. But I’d like to think they’ve just been stripped of artificial glow, my goals parsed to a core that’s solid and true. OK, so maybe I won’t have a perfect track record for the whole year, but that wasn’t going to happen anyway, was it? What matters is that I get up at least one more time than I fall.
Onward and upward.