This is where we are all supposed to wax philosophical about the new year. I woke up this morning with something semi-thoughtful on my mind, but as soon as I'd showered, it was gone down the proverbial (or literal) drain. That's okay, since there is nothing I could say that hasn't already been said a million times by a lot more talented folks than I.
I'm not really a New Year Resolution kind of person. It rubs me the wrong way, like Valentine's Day, where just because it's a specific commercial day, NOW you must be all lovey dovey. Now, because it's the New Year, you must make resolutions and wax nostalgic and change your life. The thing is, there's nothing wrong with telling someone you love them even if it is a day mandated by society, and there's nothing wrong with reflecting on your life, your health, your spirituality, your relationships, and your goals over the past year and really stopping to assess where those things are and where you want them to be and what you might need to do to achieve them. Even if you're supposed to because it's That Day. Even if it would be nice if you did both things more than one day a year. See? I have a passive-aggressive approach to commercial holidays. This is not news to anyone who knows me well enough to know this blog exists. ;) But having said that, there is something that can't seem to be squashed (yet) out of that irritating optimist in me: I love a good second chance. Or third. Or however many it takes to get it right. I always loved the first blank page of a new journal to fill, the blinking cursor right before you start putting down a short story, the success story of a friend who has struggled with an issue, the underdog story, perseverance through trials. New Year's Eve is a good catalyst to at least stop and think, but you don't have to wait until New Year's Eve to decide to make a change--you can do it on a Tuesday at 3:30 p.m. driving in the car on the way to your 33rd errand of the day, and sometimes those mean more.
Me, I have some things I'd like to work on, always, because life is a big work in progress and I'm not even halfway there. There's a joke around here about how the older you get the more your "Give a Hoot"er (hmm, that doesn't sound good either. Give a Darn'er?) gets broken. I'm not too bad, but I still have a couple areas where my Give-a-Darner needs to tone it down a notch or two, where I'm wound too tight on something I shouldn't care so much about, and I guess that's part and parcel for being in your 30s. However, I'm tired of being so wound up about that thing or two, and shall do my best to unwind it. There are a couple areas I probably need to care about a little more, too, so I guess the trick is to switch from using up your energy on pointless things and redirect it to what matters more.
I just found a blog for Richard Bach, an author I have always enjoyed. He reposted the below essay on his blog, and I enjoyed it and thought it appropriate for a New Year's Day message. I smiled when I read something I'd been thinking about and already said above; I didn't copy the thought from him, but like I said, there is nothing new to say, and today it was said below by someone more talented than I. :) It's long, but it's worth a read to the end.
Hope you all are enjoying your first, fresh day in the new year!
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Free to a Good Home – Dreams
By Dixie in All Posts, Connecting Passion, Purpose and Presence
I’ve been cleaning out my closet.
And I’m getting rid of a lot.
Of dreams.
Not because they are too big.
Not because they are too small either.
But because they aren’t right for me.
Here we are, about to begin another year. Arguably, we begin a new year every day. But we, the “civilized people of the Western World” have chosen to designate January 1 as the beginning of a New Year, and it’s as good a date as any to spend in celebration and contemplation.
(Side note: birthdays are also good. Sundays too. As are Wednesdays and anniversaries and days of no consequence whatsoever except that they are your days to do with as you choose.)
So, in this week of celebration and contemplation leading up to the magical moment when the clock is reset and time begins anew, I spent some time reviewing my dreams.
They looked a lot like my closet often looks – some spots on the rack crowded with bright colors and rich neutrals while other spots show gaps where favorite wear-so-often-they-never-make-it-back-to-the-closet pieces are supposed to be. Fancy-frillies are hung at the far end where they are seldom noticed, while walk-the-dog hoodies snuggle up to speak-to-roomfuls-of-people jackets and skirts.
I gave myself the same challenge I periodically use to clean out my closet – “If you haven’t worn it in a year, if you don’t like the way it looks on you, if it worked for that one occasion but that occasion won’t ever come again, should it be taking up space in here?”
When addressing my closet, that usually results in a storm of fabric flying from racks to boxes, shoes thudding into donation bins, belts and purses pelting down from high shelves to join them.
I’ll pause now and again, running my fingers over some beautiful thing before I reluctantly admit it just isn’t “me.” Or wiping a tear as I lay some cherished, but no longer useful, item in the to-be-donated box, remembering when I bought it, where I wore it, the emotional threads inseparable from the silk and cotton.
But the time comes – I have to let them go.
Because, really, that burnt orange shade is hideous on me.
That cocktail dress is pretty, but I don’t want to go anywhere that I would wear it.
That jacket looks good, but I’m always fussing with the sleeves.
That old thing really IS an old thing – it’s worn thin with frequent wearing and washing and no miracle will make it look good again.
When I purge my closets I let go of anything that doesn’t serve me, whether it fits me or doesn’t.
Time to do the same with my dreams.
That dream that someone else thought was perfect for me? Gone.
The one that was so bright and full of possibility, until it went through the wringer a couple of times? Gone.
The one I so wanted to believe was real, until I saw the “faux” on the label? (That’s okay for leather and fur, but NOT okay for dreams.) Gone.
All boxed up and ready for someone else to pick up and wear.
So what is left?
The true dreams. Not the dreams already come true, but the dreams that are truly mine.
Are some of them too big for me now? Sure. But I love them enough to grow into them.
Are some of them so bright and bold that I have a moment of doubt, wondering if others will judge me for choosing them? Sure. But I love how I feel when I wear them, and that is the only judgment that matters.
Are some of them a little revealing? Sure. But I have nothing to hide.
I’m keeping only the dreams that make me feel good, that make me feel like the me I like best. I’m keeping the dreams that make me feel like dancing, like running, like jumping for joy.
Everything else has to go.
Because when you choose your dreams, it isn’t about dreaming big.
It’s about dreaming true.
For you.
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