Category Archives: purpose

Why I Make New Year’s Resolutions

Every year, just before New Year’s, I take out my diary and write down New Year’s Resolutions. I don’t show them to anyone, not even my husband. They are only for me to see, only for me to enjoy. I hide my resolutions where no one can ever find them, and I look at them throughout the year and at the end of each year.

Some of my friends never make New Year’s resolutions. Maybe they don’t want to disappoint themselves. Maybe they don’t want to change their lives. I read once, though, that as long as a person continues to grow, she will feel young. I like to challenge myself to continue to grow in various ways. Resolutions help me do that, but here are more specific reasons why I make them every year.

New Year’s Resolutions Help Me Clarify My Goals

I am not always clear on how to accomplish my goals, but when I make a New Year’s resolution, I try to make it specific enough so that I know exactly how to succeed.

Let’s say that I want to pay off my mortgage early. A New Year’s resolution will help me decide exactly how to do that. For example, I could promise myself to pay an extra $500 a month for the whole year. This makes it easy for me to follow through on my promise.

Resolutions Help Me Grow

When I want to learn something major, I make it part of my New Year’s Resolutions, so I don’t forget about it.

For example, after I retired, I decided that I wanted to become fluent in Spanish. I realize that this is going to take me years to accomplish, but I’m not going to worry about that. I’m just going to practice until I achieve it. In order to do that, I made a resolution to practice Spanish for at least fifteen minutes every day. Along with this resolution, I am taking a two-hour Spanish class every Wednesday morning for which I complete homework. Nevertheless, outside of the class and homework, I still promise to practice fifteen minutes a day. This is not too long so that I become overwhelmed, but long enough for me to improve my speaking, listening, and vocabulary. I’ve been practicing Spanish for fifteen minutes a day for two years now, except for the three weeks I went to Italy. I can now speak in Spanish without have a brain freeze.

Resolutions Act Like a Measuring Stick

I love looking back on my resolutions from prior years and thinking about how they helped me accomplish something.

Last year, I resolved to write the first draft of my novel. By the end of October, I had finished it. Even if I hadn’t finished it, I would have written far more of it than if I had never made the resolution. I can always measure my progress against the promise I made. I don’t berate myself for not accomplishing my goal; instead, I’m happy of the progress I made.

I’ve made eight resolutions for 2023. One is about how I promise to exercise a certain amount each week. Another is about how I plan to write the second draft of my novel. Practicing Spanish is the third one, and the other five are for my own eyes only.

During 2023, I’ll look back on my personal promises, and coach myself to stay on track. I’ll be my own best, supportive friend.

My Epiphany: I’m not Retired, I’m Now a Full-time Writer

Last year, I retired from my English professor job. Throughout the years, I had always claimed to be a writer. Heaven knows, I wrote countless essays, paragraphs, articles, and lesson plans for my courses, but I also wrote poetry, articles, and short stories whenever I found free time–in-between semesters or during the summer. What I never wrote was a novel. I’ve had ideas on the table for years. Scribblings in pretty journals. Scratchings in lined notebooks. Never a complete draft or a completely formed plot waiting to be expressed.

When I retired a year ago, I looked at my retirement as a time when I would fill my days with hobbies. I even developed a list of hobbies and stuck it on my little bulletin board next to my computer in my library. That’s where I write, and one of the hobbies on the list is writing. I also wrote gardening, cooking, learning Spanish, and, of course, writing. The list was for whenever I didn’t know what to do. I would just read the list, choose an activity and proceed.

I made such glorious dinners for my husband and me the first six months of my retirement: chicken and shrimp gumbo, mushroom risotto, marinated leg of lamb, and grilled flat iron steak. I created recipes for healthy versions of pumpkin bread and blueberry breakfast bars. I experimented with turmeric and cinnamon in oatmeal and developed personal breakfast egg sandwiches with tortillas and flat breads. I filled my recipe blog with over a hundred recipes and attracted followers from all over the globe. My culinary prowess was astounding until I decided that eating out looked like a lot less work.

By summer, my garden was cleaned of weeds, pruned, fertilized, swept, and raked. The flowers grew like happy children and the fruit trees hung heavy with lemons, blood oranges, and figs. My pots of herbs provided me with lush clippings of thyme, parsley, mint, chives, lavendar, oregano, and basil. By the time fall came, I had done such a remarkable job at sprucing up the front and back yards that there was little else to do except to sit outside and enjoy my beautiful environment.

I started studying Spanish, but in the summer, I started taking classes every Wednesday at a local adult education school. Now, after a whole year of practice, I’m conversing with my classmates in conversations that span paragraphs.

The most difficult activity that I started, however, was to write a novel. I now felt that I had an overall plot in mind. I didn’t have all the pieces, but I was just going to start and see what happens. To ward away writer’s block, I decided not to make any rules or promises. I would write a novel even if I never published it. I would write even when I didn’t know what to say. I would write even when the words came out stilted and awkward. Revision is so much easier than a first draft anyway.

What’s funny is that I’ve just had an epiphany after being retired for a year. Cooking is not that important to me. Gardening is fine, but my little yard will not require much of my time to keep up. Besides, Alfred comes once a week to cut the grass and clean up the leaves.

Spanish is so much fun, but I’ve found that writing is really where my passion lies.

The other day, Valarie from the Alamo Women’s Club called me to ask if I would run for an office for next year. I joined the club last year to help them raise money for scholarships for college students, and I’ve done that. But run for an office?

No. If I became an officer, I wouldn’t have enough time for writing.

I need time to stir up ideas, time to catch up on sleep when I’ve gotten up at 2:00 in the morning to write, time to outline scenes, and lots and lots of time to write.

Next time someone asks me what I do, I’m not going to say I’m retired. They’ll think I have time to fill.

My time is full–of writing.

The Yellow Rose

Friday was the last day of class, and Profesora Casti lead her students to Almagro, the part of Buenos Aires known for its flower vendors.  First, the group wandered among the flower stalls on Acuňa de Figueroa where baskets of roses filled the air with intense fragrances.  Leonie bent over the bunches to breathe in their perfume, and she took turns saying their names out loud with her classmates.  They chatted with the vendors who told them where they grew their flowers and how they worked from early in the morning until late at night planting seeds, hand-watering, and pruning in order to produce the most beautiful blooms. 

The vendors chatted about Mother’s Day, weddings, and baptisms for which they sold the most flowers.  Some stayed open 24 hours a day.  The best time to buy flowers, they said, was late at night or early in the morning.  These really were the most romantic times of the day anyway. 

The class meandered to Calle Sarmiento where even more vendors had their shops.  One shop, filled with tuberose and jasmine, perfumed the air outside its door with heady floral fragrances.  Inside, the vendor was wrapping flower bouquets in cellophane paper for a woman and her two daughters. 

Leonie wandered away from the group to admire the lilies of another vendor.  While she was reaching out to touch a petal, a woman dressed in a green apron came out to greet her. 

“Your lilies are gorgeous,” exclaimed Leonie.

“Thank you.  My grandfather used to sell flowers on the streets of Buenos Aires.  My father sold flowers in the old market in stall 8, and, now, I rent this shop here to continue our family tradition.”

Leonie moved under the shade of the willow tree that grew right in front of the storefront.  “I love flowers,” she said.

“I love flowers, too,” replied the vendor.  “I’ll sell them until I’m old and frail.”

Leonie paused in thought, running the woman’s response through her mind.  Forever was a long time to do just one thing.  Leonie didn’t know that she would ever find something that she wanted to do for so long.  The woman in the green apron smiled at her, her face flushed with the essence of intense happiness, her eyes like shining opals. 

“So,” Leonie asked, “You don’t ever wish that you could do anything else?”

The woman smoothed down the front of her green apron with hands crusted with dirt, chapped from years of digging and planting.  “No, never. I never wish to do anything else. Each day in my flower shop I get to express my creativity, and that gives me intense joy.  Besides, I know that I like to be around beautiful things, and what could be more beautiful than a shop full of flowers.”

“You seem so content.”

“You see this willow tree that’s giving you shade?  A willow tree symbolizes fulfilling wishes of the heart.  It also symbolizes inner vision.  I’m lucky to know what fulfills my life.  That knowledge is my inner wisdom.”

The vendor showed Leonie around her tiny shop, identifying the names of all the flowers and inviting her to smell their fragrances.  Leonie told the vendor that she was about to take a trip to search for her life’s purpose.  As the woman listened to her story, her eyes glistened and a whisper of a smile set upon her lips.

Before Leonie left, the woman held out a yellow rose.  “This rose symbolizes our new friendship,” she said.  “Friends are one of the most precious treasures of your life.  From now one, you and I are lifelong friends.  I wish you success on your trip and hope that you find your version of life fulfillment. 

That night, just before Leonie went to bed, she sat at her desk to write in her journal.  I know what fulfills me, she wrote.  After setting down her pen, she felt anxious.  But I don’t know what fulfills me, she worried.  I don’t know what I want to do with the rest of my life.  I don’t know what makes me happy day after day after day. 

Leonie looked at the yellow rose that the flower vendor had given her.  Its yellow petals brightened up the shadows of her room.  She remembered how gently the woman had picked up each flower and described its characteristics, moving among her flowers with grace, touching each blossom with respect and admiration; her movements were filled with love. 

Now Leonie knew.  The woman had been a messenger from her own soul to teach her how to find her own purpose.  Love was an integral part of finding fulfillment.  When she found out what she loved, she would find her contentment. 

Leonie touched the yellow rose, and her heart filled with joy when she remembered that the woman promised that they would be friends for life.  Friendship, she thought.  I have love already.