Groundhog Day Resolutions

Happy Groundhog Day...um, plus one.  It's an exciting time, for those of us in the minority who maintain that Groundhog Day is a much better day to start resolutions than January 1.  It's perfect, really.  The gym has cleared of all of those "January oners" who vowed to exercise.  The Super Bowl is over, so you can safely swear off hot wings. And the cold weather is closer to gone (at least in South Texas), so you can commune with nature more, if that's on your list. 

The other advantage of implementing your resolve on February 2 instead of January 1 is that you have a whole month to hear others' resolution lists, giving you the fodder to think about yours carefully while you pay off Christmas and get back into the post-holiday groove of normal life.  January is the hunkering-down month, the nothing-special month, perfect for reflecting and making notes. Much better, really, than trying to reflect while the frenzy of holidays and relatives clouds your judgment.  I wrote a little down almost every day, allowing myself the luxury of time to think about my priorities. 

So, after a month of rumination, here is my list:

Look up.  This was inspired by an acquaintance and fellow alumni of my graduate English program.  It means to keep your eyes and your heart open and ready for "amazing little discoveries."  This acquaintance, writer and designer Alyson Wagner, sent me a wonderful New Year's e-card that she designed with this image, an uplifting discovery she made on a winter walk.  It was perfect medicine for my lost feelings of "what is next?" 

 

 

1) Keep writing.  As I mentioned, I have felt so lost lately without my little one to write about.  It's ironic that once my grief over his death started to subside, a deep grief for the loss of the words that Dylan helped me create has overtaken me.  But I've always been a writer, of different sorts (persuasive and informational)--I was just too afraid to let the good stuff out, the stuff that doesn't garner a paycheck but pays so much more.  And the subject matter--unconditional love, loss, having your soul refined by a traumatic experience--is still relevant, will always be relevant.  I just need to render it through the lens of my life going forward. Part of this resolution is changing the name of the blog to stop dwelling on the disease that no longer exists.  I am in the next part of my life, informed by all that I have experienced and mindful of his spirit as a source of deep strength and love.  And the blog's name needs to reflect that while honoring him, since it was him who changed me.  It's coming soon.    

 

2) Read my friends' books.  Nothing is better than keeping good creative company if you want to keep your own creativity flowing.  I am fortunate enough to know a few wonderfully creative and fearless people who have written books, and I plan to read them all--and share information about them here--throughout the year. 

 

3) Finish reading David and Goliath.  I started reading Malcolm Gladwell's latest book last year and have been too addled with the details and drudgeries of daily life to complete it.  But, as a mother of a child who is wrangling the challenges presented by ADHD, auditory processing disorders and developmental language issues (not to mention the loss of his little brother), I really need to consume and live its message. Gladwell proposes that the adversity that we tend to associate with the underdogs of the world--deaths, learning disabilities, discrimination, physical disabilities and other less-than-desirable poker hands--should be interpreted not as disadvantages but as powerful keys to potential greatness. Which leads me to my last resolution...

 

4) Stop feeling sorry for Colin.  I struggle desperately with this one, as any mother would.  I see him struggle with bullies, isolation and poor grades at school (see aforementioned learning issues listed in #3) and I want to hug him constantly just to squeeze out the uneasiness and frustration he feels.  These issues were starting to arise when Dylan was still with us and have worsened as Colin advances in grade levels.  Maybe the trauma of losing Dylan exacerbated them.  But, as much as I want to cradle that big 8-year-old in my arms and rock him every day for hours, I can't just make these things go away.  My job is to get him the professional help he needs, encourage him to work hard, cheer him on to success and insist he stick with it. I already know that overcoming these obstacles will build a character as strong as steel in him.  He will know the meaning of excruciatingly hard work by the time he graduates high school, unlike those kids who never struggled with their schoolwork. He will know about loss and sadness more than most others his age, and that will make him especially tender and compassionate toward those he loves.  He will be an amazing man for these things--unless I get in the way by coddling and pitying him.       

 

5) Oh, yeah--and try not to drink too much beer, as it makes my midsection all mushy. 

 

So, I'm holding myself to these things and will talk about them throughout the year.  Especially the resolution to look up, become aware of everything around me, and make those little discoveries that change your life.  That's the difference Dylan made.