100 words a day

I don’t want to make a resolution this year.   There’s only one I have left to make and I’ve been putting it off for years.   It’s nearly impossible, but it’s the only thing I want.

In one word: reprioritization.

It means bypassing the carrot that’s in front of me and going after the one I truly want.   It means stepping back at work, taking myself out of the fast lane: a career in upper management wasn’t my dream.  Futures we stumble upon ought not to be binding.

It means writing more.  It means dating more.  It means leaving at 5.

Amid a chorus of voices deriding the last decade and 2009 in particular, it seems I’m the only one who feels otherwise.

When the year began, I had only one promise to live up to, that this year would be better than the last.

And although the world saw it’s share of strife, my life improved.  I found the girl of my dreams, enriched relationships with friends and family, and came to terms with who I am, and who I will strive to be.

So, 2009 - we hardly knew ye.  But thank you for all gifts great and small.

2010 is here, more or less and that’s what I’ve been thinking about – more and less.  I plan next year and next decade to be full of more good stuff and less full of bad.

I’ll have less baggage, clutter and bullshit.  I’ll shed idle time, indecision and worrying over things I can’t fix or control. 

I plan more time being one of the guys again with my lifelong friends and even more guy time with my father, brother and son.  I’ll look through women’s eyes more, especially my daughter’s.

More time on the water and more time for love.

In the past, I’ve blogged my New Year’s resolutions and invariably set myself up for failure by making huge lists.  This year, it all fits in less than 100 words, but it’s still lengthy.

1.  Clean the litter boxes regularly.

2.  Start publishing fiction.

3.  Publish more non-fiction.

4.  Finish my webOS app.

5.  Strengthen my back and neck.

6.  Eat no McDonald’s breakfast sandwiches in 2010.

7.   Make (and meet) more reasonable goals at work.

8.  Streamline our finances.

9.  Read for enjoyment.

10.  Blog regularly.

11.   Transplant my Variax guitar electronics.

(At least the list goes to eleven.)

I watched part of Freaky Friday yesterday, and when Lindsey Lohan was punished by having her bedroom door removed, I was reminded of my own childhood.

My dad used to do that, shouting “You slam it, you lose it” as he carried the unhinged door down the stairs.  I called him to laugh about this policy for keeping five daughters from slamming doors.

He laughed and said, “Not you so much.  The third one and the fourth one, all the time.  You slam it, you lose it!”

“Did you just call Kate and Maggie by numbers?”

Sheepish laughter.  “Oh.  Yeah.”

My entire discussion with both my children and anyone else for that matter concerning Santa Claus last about five seconds.  If you don’t believe, you don’t receive – period.  Santa Claus is the simplest thing in the world for me understand and explain to anyone else.

I believe in Santa the same way I do about love, family and friends.  Belief in Santa describes my future and explains my past.  I think about that more than ever this Christmas.  My kids are a thousand miles away and they keep me at an even greater distance.  Believing in and receiving from; simple. 

My name is Mark and my best friends are Debbie, Andy, Kevin, Mike, and Kim; fairly common names. Throw in Eugenia, Clayton and Skippy and that’s as exotic as the list is.

I was last-minute Christmas shopping and saw personalized ornaments, coffee-mugs, sweatshirts, key-chains, license-plates and everything else with a name on it under the sun.  There was no “Cyndy” or “Becki” or “LaQuesha” or “Jaymes.”  I thought – “what were parents thinking when they gave their children unique/trendy names that sounded so good at the time?”

My children have names from Irish mythology and Sioux legacy.  What was I thinking?

“There is great disorder under heaven-and the situation is excellent.”

It’s sub-zero here in Chicago.   My father’s kidney cancer hurts him and he’s scared.  My daughter is waiting on college admissions and she’s probably scared too.  My kid’s Mom lost her career and her Mami’s health is in dire straits and I know she’s really scared.

My brother is single for the first time in his life and he’s scared beyond belief.  My sweetheart is scared for me and about us because she knows everything about everyone and everything.

I’m not scared at all.  I know where my heart is.

One of my few NYC complaints is riding the subway and fortunately, I’ve usually been able to walk to work.

Lately I commute to the West Village, Hoboken and the Bronx, and ride it a lot.
The other night, some vile little thug wannabe was on a tear using filthy words…the f word, the n word, just refusing to shut it.

Then his friends started telling him it was offensive.  To everyone else and to him. 

He tried defending himself and then asked if they were all getting together over the weekend.

“No.  We’re not”. 

I liked those other guys.

I catch “Jeopardy” every now and then on television and I’m a pretty good player for two reasons; I had great teachers in school and I read a lot.  When I come up with the answer to someone’s obscure question I usually joke “I’ll take useless crap for $400, Alex.”

Lately I’ve realized how much I do know and how many things I just instinctively “know” how to fix, figure out or make better.  I have a large library of answers at my disposal all for one reason – my father.  His gifts are my responsibility to pass along and share.