New Year, New Me? Maybe

Happy New Year!

And that baby who was just 29 months? is now 33 months. Soon to be the big Oh-Three.

Poetry. That is what I'd really like to let this blog to be about. Poetry. Running. Cooking (though if I'm honest, as I must be, it's baking I love more than preparing meals). If it's true that you can only be truly good at three things, I'm in trouble, since I haven't even touched on Mothering or Spiritual practice. Which is What I Do. In daily life. those last two are the real focus of my life, the broth I am steeped in, whereas you could say for most of us, things like writing, reading, cooking, exercising are mere hobbies. A soup, say, or a dessert. I'd have to say that's true for my life, at least on the surface.

Strangely, since the two things I know most certainly are central to my existence are with me almost constantly, it's almost harder to talk about them, to step back or view them clearly.

Though here and there I allow an obsessive interest in all things running to take me over, my lack of finesse sooner or later jars me back to reality.

Though time and again, I let the flower of poetry blossom in my heart, it rarely makes it onto the page anymore. Somewhere in the attic is a trunk of hundreds, if not thousands, of poems of old. I keep meaning to do something with them. For a shining moment, I have had occasion to share them with others and allowed myself to believe I might share them with the world. Just briefly.

And cooking seems to surface as an all or nothing motif in my kitchen. Only during a mad cookfest such as holiday dinners or birthdays do I cook up a storm, and exhausted, hardly enter my kitchen for days afterward. Not like I would prefer to be: prepare beautiful feasts effortlessly, nourish my family with home cooked quality time, family dinners every night, and perfect organic deliciousness. Instead I find myself baking madly for a day or two, a week or two, a month or two, then lapsing. Getting excited over starting this or that cooking endeavor, new recipe, slow cooking, etc. What I would love to do is stay consistent, cook at least a bit daily, not pressure (cook) myself, be able to relax with what and whom I love.

It seems not to be.

Now it's a new year, a new start, at least fiscally, and I am wondering. Curious to see what I will do, how I will be, where I will fall, what will be the priorities.

Will I cook a bit each day, lose those ten pounds (finally!), bring my poetry back to life, be the mom I wish I was, be closer with my husband? Will I win a race? Run a marathon? Or even enter a race? Will I stay the course and not miss a run, going four times a week (like i did for about 10 months last year)? Will I, per chance, write more than three posts a year on this blog? (Will I ever get my PhD in psychology, or after many years of effort and orientation toward that goal, will I lay that goal to rest this year?)

Will I do anything I set out to do? Or will I, like each year prior, see a sea of missed chances, wasted opportunity, judgements, nonvirtues. The mountain of failures piled high over any small successes.

On Jan 1, 2015, I really don't have an answer for you. I wish I could tell you how it will turn out for me. I'm sorry, I don't know right now.

See you in December of this year for an update...

Only joking. Probably.

Maybe I'm too hard on myself.
Maybe this post is going on way too long. See there's that all or nothing thing again.

I do know that whatever else occurs, I must keep my commitment to spiritual practice, and let my mothering heart lead. I will be kind to my children as much as possible. I would love to be closer with my husband, a better daughter to my parents, a better sister, a better friend. Finally "do something" with my career.  Don't know how often I will succeed.

If all else fails, at least I will cook upon occasion, read every so often, run at least twice a week (please Lord), and maybe by a miracle, I will write a poem.