And the great Arbitrary Change of Calendar Day has passed. I didn't get in the water last night. The wind was up, kicking up a light chop. In the dark that chop can be a bitch to handle, so rather than pose a late-night problem for the Coast Guard I packed it in and found a stool at one of my favorite watering holes. I didn't get drunk; I simply had a couple of beers and packed it in right after midnight.
I've never understood the impulse to drink heavily and make an ass of one's self on a night remarkable only because it's the arbitrary date the Gregorian calendar rolls over. Hearing anyone and everyone talk about their resolutions makes me want to permanently sterilize them. Why make a bunch of asinine promises to yourself that you aren't going to keep, and will barely remember when you sober up at 3 pm January 2nd?
I don't make resolutions. Resolutions are, on a deeper level, an acknowledgement of deep dissatisfaction with life and the way you live it. They're an admission of defeat. I'm perfectly satisfied with the course of my life and the actions I'm already taking to make it better. I don't need to make half-assed promises to myself to do better. I'm already on it.
So while you-all lick your balls and recover from your new year's hangovers, I'm kicking off tomorrow with another early-morning five-mile run. Seeya.