The New Year and a Case of the Waffles

Do you make resolutions at the start of the new year?

I don't. The sort of resolutions that come to mind at this time of year are of the self-denial sort -- quit eating, smoking, drinking, over-spending, etc. In the words of Charlie Brown, or was it Lucy, "Blech!" Not that these aren't worthy of pursuit. They are. But they are also, often, short-lived.

Despite this, setting goals and working toward them does evoke an inspiring sort of resolve. I think I can, I think I can, I think I can... Like a Hollywood movie where each of us plays the underdog facing the ticking clock, the tough exam, the evil fascist, our own fears. If only we can prevail, we will be redeemed. 

I'm looking for a few goals of my own. I have some biggies to sort out: singledom, job, empty nest. My son concludes that I should follow along with him to Toronto. "You hate it here," he tells me. "I think you'd find more people like you in Toronto."

He may be right.

Yet, I waffle.

I waffle with everything. What sort of job do I want? What sort can I get that will interfere as little as possible with writing? Is the writing worth pursuing? Should I just get back into consulting, make some money and forget about writing? Consulting is time consuming, intellect consuming, effort consuming. There would be little time and no brain space left for creation at the end of a long work day. The money part certainly has appeal. Saving enough to not live on cat food in my senior years has its merits. But to give up the writing? Now that would be sad.

I tell myself that this is just a phase. I've faced a lot of changes over the past -- has it only been five? -- months. Wow. It feels longer.

So, waffling for a bit is okay, right? It doesn't indicate mental disability, does it? Some decline of will? It is acceptable, no, laudable, that I take my time to get the next few years of my life sorted out without the deadline of the start of a new year. Right?

I hear they've come a long way with cat food.

Colleen