Yet I won’t be lining up resolutions in the usual sense as all eyes turn to Times Square. Like things I’ll pledge to stop doing, or do better, or even start doing. Some things are a given for all of us, like losing a little weight, working out more, and trying to carve out more personal time from that which we give to everyone else.
Some dreams live deep in our hearts, the essence of who we are, and who we want to be. It can be difficult to even voice them, for fear they won’t come true. My New Year’s dream this year is to do what I have been preparing for all my life, which is to finally get serious about writing a book.
Often, the things we want the most begin to feel unreachable as time passes. I‘ve felt a little like that lately in a sort of self-sabotage. Worried I won’t succeed, or that I’ll end up with nothing to say. But the heart knows better. And every dream deserves a chance, even this dear one of mine.
So, in January, in a library in a little coastal town on the South Shore of Boston I’ll begin a workshop on the novel with an author I admire. I spent the weekend glued to her work, in tears, and unwilling at the end to let go of characters that felt like friends.
That’s a really good sign that this is the person to guide me to my goal, and I can’t wait to get going.
Yes, I’m a little terrified. It’s both exciting and scary to stare the future in the face. Definitely put up, or shut up time, to steal a phrase.
But turning 50 brings me to a crossroads with my goals and dreams. It’s easy to say I’ll do this or that next year. Or that there’s plenty of time to get it all done. But the years fly by, and we don’t know that to be true. So, if not now, when?