Nothing is so fatiguing as the eternal hanging on of an uncompleted task. ~William James

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

2010--The Year in Rearview, Part I

As I wade into the day this morning, I am made aware that the world around me is in an end-of-the-year mood of reflection.  Those in a position to know, or to think they know, are weighing in on the events of the last 363 days.  For example, Yahoo's Year in Review; and Twitter's; and YouTube's.  Or this from CNN.  Those so inclined can revisit the year's top movies, books, sports happenings, political remarks, and financial occurrences.  And for those like me who shield ourselves from negative messages, Esquire puts a positive spin on its look back, compiling, for the waning 2010, "One hundred and two reasons to celebrate, with videos."

I am preparing my own list of things I put to bed over the past year.  But today I am watching the last grains of sand slip heedlessly through their narrow glass passage, and feeling the import of those things I have not finished.  I am fighting the impulse to slam into some ultra gear and speed through a few more projects before midnight on Friday.  As of this moment, the year's countdown timer in this blog's sidebar informs me that I have 2 days, 13 hours, 10 minutes and 59 seconds, no 58, no 57, . . . to get it all done.  But since my other strong impulse is to give in to holiday week lethargy, it's pretty clear that I'm not going to go out with a bang in late late 2010.

2010 will not be the year I published my first book; finished cleaning and organizing my basement; re-conquered my fear of blood pressure cuffs; travelled to Ireland; mended the rifts in my step-family; ended my dance with procrastination; achieved buddhahood; reclaimed my gone-wild yard; found the key to my sons' futures; achieved my ideal weight; produced heart-stopping poetry; gained fame as a blogger; unsnarled my family's health bills and insurance communiques; brought my marriage back to its former glory; healed my frayed emotional state; or learned how to grieve for my father.  And the 2 days, 12 hours, 53 minutes and 32 seconds, no 31, no 30, . . . left are not nearly enough to advance these goals.

All that's possible, or sensible, I guess, is to keep moving forward, or in whatever direction looks like forward at the moment.  And to keep dropping those drops into the bucket.  And to try to see these artificial time allotments as little signposts, or mileage markers along the way, rather than as yet more deadlines.  (And we all know how much I love deadlines.)

No comments:

Post a Comment