My mind is circling the same wishes for the New Year that it circles every year, to do with health and writing. Each year I make some progress, never enough to make the desire for change to go away, but usually enough in the face of unconscious defences, personal circumstances and events to make me feel some pride.
It’s dispiriting that my health is still bothering me to the extent it does. I made great strides in my writing through completing the MA, but without the structure of seminars and deadlines I’m floundering a little.
I don’t think resolutions work particularly well. I like the symbolism of a new year to mark changes. Perhaps this year I could resolve to pay more attention to the habits I have that frustrate me and keep tweaking them until they take me where I want to go. Then it is not to do with symbolic dates at all and becomes something I do without thinking whether I should. A habit, in fact. The habit of working on my habits.