“May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you’re wonderful, and don’t forget to make some art — write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can. And I hope, somewhere in the next year, you surprise yourself.”  ― Neil Gaiman

I’ve got a new year coming up. We all do. I like beginnings (I write that every year). I like fresh starts (I write that every year too). I like to turn that page and see it all blank and clean and full of promise (I’ve probably written that at least once or twice too).

But I also know that there is no such thing as “Tomorrow, I’ll…” It’s today. It’s always today. It’s now. If you wait to start until tomorrow, January 1st, your next birthday, next week, it never gets done. It doesn’t change. Because you build it up and you build it up and you wallow in the bad habits you already have while you’re waiting, and then the big day rolls around and the first time, the very first time you flub it — smoke or don’t work out or eat too much or lose your temper or don’t write — you give up. And you start waiting for the next new day/week/year/birthday. Nothing gets done.

So, I work toward things. I have goals in sight, things that I’m beginning to work on today. Practicing, if you will.

This new year excites me. I turn 40. I have big things planned. I have left space for small miracles to grow between the slats. Most of all, I have a list of things I’m working toward. I’m not sure I can articulate all of them yet, but they have to do with being more honest with myself, with letting go, holding on, removing obstacles, saying and doing yes. That’s the big one. Not just saying yes, but doing yes. These are tied into many things: writing, growing, aging, living, loving, being. I am beginning them without being able to say them yet, without being able to line them up in a little row of words and letters.

But sometimes that’s all you can do. Begin.

Kiss kiss bang bang, s.