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 …