The Unresolution

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What if you didn’t make those huge resolutions this year? “Lose 20 pounds.” “Run a marathon.” “Write a novel.” What if instead, right now, you spent 15 minutes doing something small and…doable…like eating a piece of fruit, taking a walk around the block, or writing a single character sketch on the back of an envelope. What if your entire year was made up of 15 minute segments–small, good choices–and if you did blow 15 minutes on a not-so-good choice, you could still be totally, fully aware that the next 15 minutes is waiting?

You don’t need to buy a cool quarter-hourglass. You have a timer on your phone. Try it!

Someone has said, “Consciousness is commitment.” Well, probably more than one person has said it. And now I’ve said it, too.

 

2013 in review

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2013 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A New York City subway train holds 1,200 people. This blog was viewed about 4,700 times in 2013. If it were a NYC subway train, it would take about 4 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

At Escape into Life

Heather Horton, Central Park Angel

A picture of a woman in the snow…the promise of an essay about writing fiction…and the recent solstice…enticed me to visit Escape into Life. Consider yourself invited.

frustrate…

christmas cactusfrustrate (v.) Look up frustrate at Dictionary.commid-15c., from Latin frustratus, past participle of frustrari “to deceive, disappoint, frustrate,” from frustra (adv.) “in vain, in error,” related to fraus “injury, harm” (see fraud). Related: Frustrated; frustrating.

Yesterday I told my husband I was frustrated. About what? He asked. Well, in part, him. I was frustrated because he wouldn’t let me vent about other frustrations. I found telling him this incredibly difficult, but I remembered a recent resolution (one of several rules posted on my refrigerator) to be honest. So I told him. I am pleased to say that he turned his full attention on me and we had a satisfying conversation, after which I was less frustrated.

My husband is the word man — our own personal dictionary — so it didn’t surprise me that he knew the etymology of frustrate. And no wonder feeling frustrated felt so wounding to me. No wonder that getting un-frustrated felt so healing.

This morning, reading around in the stack of books near my chair, I came across this poem and I was reminded that it (whatever I mean by it) doesn’t have to be so freaking hard.

It Felt Love

How
Did the rose
Ever open its heart

And give to this world
All its
Beauty?

It felt the encouragement of light
Against its
Being,

Otherwise,
We all remain

Too

Frightened.

-Hafiz