Make A New Plan by Liz Flaherty

It's Christmas morning as I write this. The TV's on, although I'm not sure why. My little battery candle is flickering against the darkness of the window. I'm the only one up, which is what happens when a morning person shares life with a night owl. I've loved seeing the Christmas messages on Facebook this morning, just as I've enjoyed opening each day's deposit of Christmas cards. 

Earlier, someone politicized It's A Wonderful Life in a comment. I did my usual thing--I wrote a reply to the comment, then deleted my reply and scrolled on. It was her page she commented on, after all, and her right to do so. 

But I wonder why she wanted to, on this morning of all mornings when we celebrate the birth of the Prince of Peace. It's two hours since I first saw it, and I still wonder why she wanted to.

A few months ago, when I was forcing Duane into a conversation that involved...yes, I'll say it...feelings, I asked him what he would change about me. Just one thing, because I wasn't going to start dusting AND remembering to lock the door. What he said, though, and I'm paraphrasing here, was that he wished I was able to let things go. He didn't say, "Holy s***, Liz, you dwell on everything," although the truth is that he would be entitled to say that after nearly 50 years of me...dwelling. (And not dusting in a timely manner or locking doors ever, but we're not going there today.)

I've written about dwelling on things before. Let's be real, I'm old--I've written about everything before, including most of my shortcomings. I have accepted that I'm a dweller.

The day has deepened, a different kind of Christmas but decorated and defined with laughter and good food and "just what I wanted" gifts. I'm once again sitting in front of a computer, and I'm thinking about it again. About the Facebook post I found unnecessarily divisive and rude. I'm not upset about it now, although it disappoints me. But how much time have I given to it by this time? 

Way too much, and what a waste. Maybe I'm wrong about accepting me as I am. As I've always been. Maybe I shouldn't. Maybe I...

December 26. Candle flickering again. The Keurig is producing my morning sustenance. I read over what I wrote yesterday and shake my head.

I need to be a grownup, I acknowledge. I was right the second time yesterday--accepting myself as I am means I'm more limited than I care to be. So I need to make a plan. I need to work on changing the things about myself that I don't like or that might be hurtful to someone else. (Picking on one's son-in-law isn't always funny, but I love you, Jim.)

But I can't change others. I can't control how they think or communicate. I can only accept. Which is much harder than it sounds. I will work on it. If only I can get to that point, maybe giving up dwelling on what I can't change as a way of life will be possible. 

I don't do New Year's resolutions and I always forget the word of the year by sometime in March. I'm almost certain I'll blow this New Year's plan, too, but I'm going to give letting things go my best shot in 2021. 

I hope you and yours had a splendid Christmas. Happy New Year. Make a plan. 

Have a great week. Be nice to somebody.

***

Thanks to everyone for their response to Window Over the Sink, the book. As soon as I know how long it will take me to get the books, I will offer them for sale as my friend Joe DeRozier does Heck, I Don't Know...I Just Make Donuts. Signed copies for $8 (if you pick them up) plus an extra $4 if you want them mailed to you.