Don’t tell me things are going to get better

It’s perplexing that many still hold to the supernatural belief that by leaving one calendar year behind, and by beginning another, it is possible to change things for the better. Make a wishful thought. Be happier.

Don’t get me wrong, we can and should be more conscientious about our lives and planet … on this, the great educator, 2020, has taught us well. We can slow down the pace of our destruction. Can’t we?

But as we approach 2021, the idea of making a “New year’s resolution” seems increasingly pointless. I’m not sure what to call it.

Fatalism? Pessimism? Deafitism? Cataclysm-ism … ism, ism, ism …

I search in vain.

Songwriters try to make some sense of it through song. Try this for size: Spring snow melts, from the album Lucky and Damned.

To hurl that it’s poetic maudlin sentimental feeling-sorry-for-oneself-ism, that would be too easy.

Neither is it northern hemisphere midwinter solstice light deprivation-ism.

I don’t have the answer.

I’ll leave to figure it out in your own terms.

All the best for what lies ahead …