I'm already making progress in this fine year of two-thousand and eleven. Doesn't that sound better than two-thousand and ten? Ten is a hard word. Eleven is softer, more inviting. Plus it's an odd number, which is much more auspicious than an even number. Trust me on this.
Anyway, we were talking progress. After writing these resolutions and committing them to the ether, I turned off the lights and music and sat with candlelight and treelight and contemplated the passing of the old year and entrance of the new. And it occurred to me that what it all boils down to, what I really need to do, is to let go.
Let go of possessions. Let go of expectations. Let go of anger. Let go of a few dreams, even. Just...let go.
This is going to be hard.