I've never been successful with new year's resolutions. They feel so heavy, and I'm disappointed come late January, early February, when I haven't met my expectations.
Instead, I've found more peace by focusing on interim goals regardless of the calendar. Plus, every year since 2013, I've adopted a guiding word, inspired by Jon Gordon's book One Word That Will Change Your Life.
Joy. Content. Embrace. Each year the word changes, and I try to live with it as a clarifying reminder of what's most important.
As 2018 was waning, though, I was struggling to find my new word. I kept a running list, discarding more than accepting, never feeling devoted or committed to a single option.
In the midst of this silent search, I was reminded of both the miracle and fragility of life. Within just a few days, I celebrated an infant baptism and mourned an unexpected loss.
In a church sanctuary, a group of family members and friends gathered around baby Jude, praying for his future and vowing to lead by example. We sang hymns together and reaffirmed our own faith. We took turns cuddling him. We marveled at his tininess and good-naturedness. We celebrated the promise of a joyful life.
And then another group of family members and friends gathered before a casket holding the body of Kumar, giving thanks for his life. We hugged his wife and two children. We placed rose petals in his casket. We listened to loved ones recall endearing qualities — pride in his adopted United States, devotion to healthy habits, passion for education. We wept over a life cut short.
Jude and Kumar. Two souls from different centuries, from different continents, from different religions. Both pillars of light, both loved from the very beginning. One with a lifetime to explore and a community to build, the other with a journey complete and a community left behind.
How could I frame the new year to reflect my values with both Jude and Kumar in mind? I was still unsure, until New Year's Day, when I opened my new calendar and read the quote for January, from Emily Dickinson: I dwell in Possibility.
Possibility.
Of course.
Jude's options are staggering, almost overwhelming. Kumar's have already been realized.
Mine are somewhere in between.
Each day offers new possibility. Books to read, ideas to explore, prayers to voice. Recipes to try, music to sing, paths to walk. Hugs to give, laughs to share, friendship to receive.
I like to think that I don't need reminders to embrace each day as a gift, to revel in every single sunrise. And yet there are days when I spend more time worrying than being thankful, when I fall into routine without thinking, when I leave possibilities unexplored.
So for this Year of Possibility, I'm thinking of Jude and the hope he represents, and I'm thinking of Kumar and the impact he's left. I'm singing, "Early in the morning, our song shall rise to thee," and I'm envisioning red, white and pink petals scattered with respect.
How fortunate we are to embrace babies — and how fortunate we are to wake up each morning — even as we say goodbye to friends who leave too soon. Welcome, 2019, and all of your potential.
Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. She can be reached at tyradamm@ gmail.com.
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