The Beginning

How many of our philosophical thoughts begin, "the thing that separates man from the animals is..."? Probably too many, yet here comes another one. And because of the date of this posting, you can probably guess the thing that makes us different from animals.

Dogs don't sit with their heads in a bottomless trough on the last night of the year, resolving with the other dogs to end this kind of behavior after midnight.

The New Year's Resolution is a tradition engaged in by nearly everyone. And while hundreds of thousands of us attempt to find dietary and fitness resolves by morning (until usually no later than March 3), many of us decide that we will awaken as better people. We make plans to argue less, to learn how to dance or play guitar, to pick up a new language, to take a course.

My goals have always been the same and include much of the above: learn an instrument (this year, it's drums, as I figure I can bang out my stress), stop yelling, stop eating from the bottomless trough of life. And write—more and better. But it's rare for us on the night before to examine the reasons we have our heads in that trough in the first place. Doesn't that set us up for failure? Shouldn't we know what is it we lack, besides self-control? Our desire for instant fulfillment wages constant war with the too-distant results of our abstinence.

For years, I belonged to a weight-loss forum. The members, myself included, posted every other day about succumbing to pizza and cheesecake. The next day, they were "back on track" but the following day were derailed yet again. We've all been there. And while support groups are wonderful, public postings do more than keep us accountable once they've become a habit. We end up feeling more of a failure for every slip, and it becomes impossible to right ourselves.


And what of all that anger that makes me snap like a mistreated dog? Where does it come from? Who hath wrongéd me? I had an uneventful childhood with the normal kind of dysfunctional arguing family. Yelling is a habit, sure, but that's not all it is. I realize now that the days I yell and snap are my pain days. I do feel like a mistreated dog. These past few mornings, I've awakened in the night feeling as though someone has bashed my hands with a hammer. They are asleep for hours upon hours. And I wake up unable to hold the tea kettle or pitcher of water.

It seems the more out of shape I get, the worse the pain becomes. I can relate these two things, yet I'm somehow in denial about this cause-and-effect relationship.

But this morning, with the prospect of typing of 100 pages rising on the horizon like a morning sun on a clear day, I must heed it.

Happy New Year to all of my friends. I hope that you make your resolutions with love and leniency toward yourselves and others. And I hope you reach your goals.