At the end of each year, I write out a summary of
what happened in that year and a goal plan. People dismissive of this ritual
say,
“I don’t do that; my goals are in the back of my mine, always,” or “Hell, who knows if we’ll
even be alive this time next year.”
That’s always impressive to hear from an
acquaintance over a cup of holiday beverage.
For me it all started with New Year’s Resolutions,
seeing it written down helped me think about it. I hate it when my attention
drifts. Oh, yeah, anyway over the years, annual goal planning became a big deal
when I ran my businesses. A company well planned almost always outperforms one
run by the seat of your pants. Ha-hah! I’m well reinforced for planning. Even
the year Kirt died, I feebly set goals.
Each year I wrote a letter telling where we’d been,
which once meant where we showed our dogs, and what we did meant bragging time
for awards at dog shows. After coming to Puerto Rico it meant telling about dogs we fed or brought to
shelter and what I’d learned about the street dogs.
For three years I’ve struggled with depression, no,
with the devil. My recovery continues with variations daily. I fear the habit
of sadness imprinted guiding me down familiar sad trails. Habitually sad, are
you kidding me? I’d begun to wonder; the blues are too sad when you deserve
them.
Travel helped me overcome my grief; I’ll tell you
how. At home I grieved and remembered; traveling I had to pay attention to what
I was doing, when my loss overwhelmed my thoughts.
I find long term sadness tiresome; don’t you?
There’s the devil you just can’t f’ing shed so much so I’ve felt bitter about
it at times. I love my husband, but I want
to enjoy my life.
2016 retrospective hit the jackpot for me; I looked
through the photographs, remembered my year and decided, when I thought about
it, 2016 was a good year.
I thank God, the Universe, Gaia, and my fellow
human beings for a lovely year; healing feels better.
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