January 2018 is already over. And, okay, seriously, I meant to write a New Years blog 31 days ago. And I didn’t. We can go ahead and blame that on my lack of New Year’s resolution. Or not.
I did sort of make a resolution for 2018, but it is not quantifiable at all. And thus it doesn’t demand anything like: Write one blog per week.
Instead my 2018 focus is on finding delight.
As I posted on Instagram, 2017 was a hard freaking year. I learned that the unexpected can derail the best of intentions. Having RA seriously discomposed me.
And because of that, I just can’t stomach the idea of judging my success by counting anything. When I was really sick last year, I would tell myself, “Tomorrow I’ll get back to my goals.” I didn’t have a single goal that my body could regularly meet: I couldn’t swim three days every week, or even always swim 3000 yards when I did get in the pool, or meet my dwindling step goal, or grade five papers everyday, or write regularly. I know that resolutions are supposed to be optimistic, but I live in a body just decided to start to eating its bones about a year ago. I am not a resolution optimist this year.
So delight. Dan wanted to know more about my quest for delight. What did that mean? Did I want to eat dinner at the table more? How could he help? I still don’t have an answer.