In the noisy current of the New Year, the rapids of resolution threaten to drown me. Perhaps I’ll leave it all behind and swim over here to where the river is calm, where ripples expand and gently dissipate. I’ll try instead to be less goal-oriented, to let go, to take the time. Maybe I’ll tenderly remove a bandage and take a look at the wound there, without striving for results or resolution, without pressuring myself for a reaction or a diagnosis.
Maybe I’ll become the river.