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“Good resolutions are simply checks that men draw on a bank where they have no account.”- Oscar Wilde

I have a lot to share, at least it feels that way, way more than usual. I don’t know how many times I have approached this screen, with nothing on my mind, likely obvious to those of you with great patience. I wish I could ask you what I ought to start with, but we’re stuck with me. I kind of knew this was going to happen, because of the choices I have made going into the New Year and now, safely on the other side. 

Let’s see how we got here, even though I haven’t told you where here is. You gotta work with me. I’m a sucker for symbols of all kinds, because they imply a sort of magic about them.  I guess depending upon your imagination and willingness to believe, most anything or anytime can become a symbol.

Somewhere, toward the end of last year, I began to have this nebulous feeling, hard to define or name, but getting my attention. It clearly had to do with being more out in the world, but that was all I could get from it.

I bought a couple pairs of shorts, which I have never worn here, after all these years. I think I was born in jeans. I was never comfortable stuck in the suit costume for years in the broadcast advertising business in NYC. In the beginning, it felt cool to pretend to be a grown up and after many, many years, I began feeling more like a clown, no longer taking myself seriously. 

My hair has somehow become part of this story mosaic as well. Now that I look at this tale coming together, it feels like a jig saw puzzle in need of a chiropractor. WE have been waiting for my hair to grow, so I can have a full on ponytail. I feel confident that even at its my current length, I finally have it. Now, I can be out in the world hatless, just me under the sun. This was a huge deal for me. I’ve always thought hats sucked and I am thrilled to now have the choice.  

Not even sure why I bought a pair of running shoes, but I did. For the forty plus years of my obsessive compulsive, everyday running mania, I always wore running shoes, nothing else. OK, in Santa Fe, an occasional cowboy boot, but that’s been it.  Every six months, I traded out for a new pair and religiously wore the cast offs. I had no idea the impact this new pair would have. I’ll get to that part in a bit.

All of sudden, the whole running shoe thing slammed shut around four years ago. I had seriously injured my left leg many years before that. I fought like hell to rehab from that injury to make it right and I did. I had a stiletto understanding of the commitment you need to have to become whole again. I’ll tell you, when you have seriously compromised any part of your body, it will come back to remind you. My leg decided it’s time was up and it could no longer pretend it was just like the limb on the right. Enter the incredibly monotonous, stationary bike, as it’s bastard replacement.

Going into the New year, the pain and difficulty of movement caused by my monumentally, unglamorous collapse, was on my mind. For a long-time yoga practitioner, it automatically makes you more body conscious. I find myself having muted conversations with the parts of me that hurt right now. 

Now, if you remember all the way back to my symbol reference, the New Year is a no brainer for fools like me. Truthfully, I didn’t think falling was very funny and it pissed me off just enough. Let’s say it got my attention.

Sometimes, when I get an idea, I can’t say for sure where it came from. Looking at a brand new pair of running shoes everyday and not putting them on ever, seemed like some kind tease, easily remedied, only at the right time. In hindsight, they needed a cause, while waiting patiently, tucked away in a corner.

I have been carrying a geriatric, kangaroo pouch, just above my belt and I am finally pissed off enough to do something about it. No, I am not foolish enough to think I can best gravity in a duel, but the sense of resignation has been pissing me off for quite some time. Let’s remember our symbols and their timing.

Now, it is time for a brief departure but not really. I started thinking about the difference between cardio’s and calories. Yes, I have no fucken idea why, believe me. I think it had something to do with getting serious about some shit, all part of this story.

I think many of us make the mistake, thinking really, aggressive intense exercise will burn more calories than a prolonged, rhythmic routine, like walking, yes, walking. Guess who’s got a pair of goddamn, brand new running shoes? Is it a coincidence? You be the judge!

This week, I have started walking to and from work every other day. It kind of sucks in the midst of the up and down, but the moment I have arrived, my body settles, like it never happened. 

In addition to the workout, I have rediscovered the running shoe and my body remembers. It has the scent of athleticism for me. I am now walking like it’s a sport. I am going to strengthen that left leg, which is definitely making its presence felt on the walks. 

If you all remember, we closed out last year with my introduction to fishing. I would like to think I did a fairly romantic build up to my surf seance with Ernest Hemingway. Hanging on to the rod for dear life, under precarious footing, at least for me, I keeled over like Sonny Liston, who also had no reason to hit the canvas the way he did. I sure didn’t do it for money. I didn’t do it for the story either. This shit hurts.

Fishing feels like it is the unifying force at work here.

I have gone fishing a second time and it felt like a little bit of payback for my tragic collapse on the rocks. I was really struck by that expanse of motionless time, when you have cast your rod and there isn’t a fucken thing to do. So, what do you do? You pose and that is exactly what I am doing in the photo. It is a far cry from it’s predecessor pic, looking like a guy in trouble, which I was. I am cool until I catch a fish and then there’s gonna be a story for sure.

One last thing, before I go. There is a solitary, silent quality about both walking and fishing, an internal time. On my first day of walking, I put in the air buds and the serenade began. There I was, waving my hands to the music and singing out loud. Then, during my second attempt at fishing, I punched up Pandora and slipped the phone into my pocket. Years ago, music changed my motorcycle riding and it is nourishing my new regimen in 2023.

So much feels new to me at the moment and it is more than a coincidence of the calendar. It feels like I am paying a bit more attention to the moment than usual. I’m alive.

I feel resolute.

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