Pay No Mind

As I don’t make New Year’s resolutions, I am not making the same one again this year. I am not promising to write more. I do not resolve to clear my mind and let the Muse do her thing; I will not try harder to be creative and I do not promise to finish any of the projects that have sat half done for the past xxx years.

Xxx years? Really? Augh. And I call myself a writer?

Well, yeah. I do. I just don’t call myself a prolific one.

In keeping with my ritual of non-resolution, I don’t plan to change my status and become more prolific. I haven’t spent any time perusing incomplete stories with an eye to changing their status, either. Yet one has begun to resume forward motion. I had stalled, as usual, when my head got, well, ahead of me ... and the quote above this post came at the best possible time.

Now I have something new to practice: cultivating no mind. Thinking is okay, but doing too much of it is not my friend. It’s not conducive to art of any ilk. Or to life, when it comes to that. How often do you change your mind before choosing something at random off a menu? How many playlists do you agonize over before picking one just to make it stop? Do you ever wear what you planned to wear? I admit to a perverse pleasure in anticipating my drink for Thursday cafe with wee sis and boy sister, but even then, I’ve been known to toss my plan out the window when I get to the counter. (Okay, that’s mostly to throw the barista, who prides himself on knowing his customers’ “usual”.)

One week into the new year and my non-resolution is already in danger of being broken. The story I mentioned is almost done. Once I gave it some serious attention (not thought), it started to write itself and now I know how it ends. I just have to write myself there.

Never mind.

The Year of the Pause

Though I don’t make New Year’s resolutions, I do begin each year with a blank office bulletin board, and every year that board has a theme. 2017 was about the moon and stars. I sprinkled the paper with celestial quotes from Shakespeare to Einstein to Neil Degrasse-Tyson and drew pictures in higher chakra colours to lend a calming “night sky” atmosphere to my increasingly crazy workdays.

It didn’t always work, but it was always gratifying to see my colleagues smile so maybe it worked better than I think.

As January 1 approached, I began contemplating my theme for 2018. On Christmas Day, rather than annoy myself by surfing F***book, I was prompted to pay a rare visit to the Paper Teapot and catch up on far too many of Nicole’s poems. In calmer times, I dropped into the Pot quite often; altered priorities of late have put the screws to that, to my detriment. Nic’s poetry is both beautiful and practical, as it encourages my creativity and my interpretive skills—an artistic two-for-one that I confess has been taken for granted in light of more pressing (yet ultimately less important) issues.

I digress.

As I scrolled through her unread posts, my admiration—and, yes, envy—was reawakened. Her turn of phrase, her magical metaphors and airbrushed imagery held me in thrall until I could no longer stand it: I had to email her and gush about the handful of gems she managed to wring from spare moments around her epic year-long writing project.

One poem in particular pounced: a flame so pure in its perfection that it sparked the theme for my 2018 bulletin board and may even have prompted my first NY resolution in decades. It’s called “This Pause” and here’s what it inspired:

·         In the midst of chaos, hit the pause button.

·         Stop the carousel and take a conscious breath.

·         Hear the space between the notes.

·         See beauty in unexpected places (like the mirror).

·         Don’t buy into drama.

·         Foster your connection to the things that really count and release the rest.

Some days will be tougher than others. My resolve is an exercise in mindfulness, but it will be worth it when I remember to pause.

Thank you, Beanie.

Happy New Year!

With love,

New Year’s Day

It seems counter-intuitive to begin a new year with a hangover, but that’s inevitably what I do. And when I say “hangover”, I mean of the gluttonous variety. I’m a cheap drunk, so despite the seasonal increase in consumption, I limit myself to one boozy libation per day. Treats, however, know no bounds and can do as much mischief as alcohol once the line is crossed.

Thatʼs why I try to view January 1 as just another day; a day to recover from the holiday overload and regain some perspective. A hangover of any ilk will skew the latter, thus adding to the fervour of making those pesky New Yearʼs resolutions. Is that when the tradition started, I wonder? Folk feeling like crap and resolving to be better about feeling better? A man will agree to do anything if heʼs miserable enough and wants the misery to end.

I may be aware of the perils in NY resolutions, but I am not immune. I was reflecting in the bathroom mirror this morning on what I might resolve to do better in 2014. One thing came immediately to mind:

Write daily.

Just as promptly, the panicked mental chatter ensued.

What, write something every day for a whole year and beyond? I canʼt commit to that. I have a job, a social life. What if I fail (which I am likely to do, given the scope of the resolution)?

Inner sigh.

“Write dailyˮ means write today. It does not mean write tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.

The same principle applies to anything and everything else. Do it TODAY. And if youʼre unsure you can uphold that resolve for a full 24 hours (as I am about rebuffing those treats), hold true to the moment.

Just for today. For New Yearʼs Day and Valentineʼs Day, for Tuesday, for your birthday, for Arbour Day and Nirvana Day and All Saintsʼ Day—what day doesnʼt matter as long as itʼs this one.

This day. This hour. This moment. Itʼs the one youʼve got. Make it count.