Not a Resolution

For years, I made New Year’s resolutions.

They were organized and listed. I had family, financial, health, and personal resolutions. I didn’t just write them down; I monitored them throughout the year. I made notes beside each one, tracking how successful I’d been. At the end of the year, I analyzed my accomplishments and pondered my failures.

Like many habits over the years, I eventually quit.

And now, here I am again. It’s New Year’s Eve.

But this year feels different.

I’m starting a new blog—not about resolutions, and not even just about getting older. This year isn’t about fixing myself or setting goals that imply I’m failing. Instead, it’s about a shift in mindset.

I’m acknowledging something simple and uncomfortable and freeing all at once:

You cannot change the past.

You cannot control the future.

All we truly have is the present moment.

So my intention this year is to live each moment—and try to notice it while it’s happening.

I’m on a cruise ship today. The weather is windy, and today’s port was canceled because it wasn’t safe for boats to tender to shore. Instead of disembarking, there are roughly 6,000 passengers and 2,000 crew members all stuck together on a floating hotel. It's chaos outside our cabin.

I wasn’t especially attached to getting off the ship. But while the seven-mile sandy white beach would have been great, the idea of staying on board while everyone else left had its appeal. But that’s not what happened, we aren't on the beach but on the boat with 8500 others.

So I shifted to gratitude.

We have a cabin with a balcony. I can sit outside and stare at the ocean. That alone is a gift. I am on a cruise with my in family.

After the announcement, I got up, picked up the MSC mat they had placed on the bed to protect it from suitcases, and carried it out onto our oversized deck. I rolled it out and did thirty minutes of yoga.

As I moved, I was aware of the boat rocking beneath me. The mist of ocean water flew over the railing and landed on my face and body. I noticed the sounds around me. The warmth of the sun. The rhythm of my breath.

It was a relaxing thirty minutes.

And now it’s gone.

That exact moment will never happen again.

And I think that’s my point.

Every moment we’re given is like that—once it passes, it’s gone.

I think about my parents. All the moments I had with them. They’re gone now. What remains are memories. There is no more future with them—only what I carry forward.

My kids are growing up. Sean is 18, a senior, about to leave for college. Soon, Don and I—at 64 and 67—will be empty nesters.

So the question is: what comes next?

I know what I don’t want.

I don’t want stagnation.

I don’t want poor health.

I don’t want to be solitary.

I don't want to be out of touch.

What I want is a life of health and engagement.

Of service.

Of family.

Of moments noticed while they’re happening.

Not a resolution.

A mindset

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