What is it about a new year that brings our desire for sweeping change? Afriend of mine showed me her list of intentions this year. When she asked me what mine were, I gave her a single answer. “It is the Year of the Narrative.” She asked what it meant, and I attempted to explain. In truth, I am not certain what it looks like specifically. And I don’t have the desire to define it further than that. I am relying on my intuition to guide me to that which is true.

It may seem like a cop out. After all, so much of our world is about control. Controlling our weight; controlling our fate. But oddly I don’t have the need to control what happens, but rather a sincere desire to bask in the unfolding.

Something about the new year drives me to clear away the old (Christmas decorations included!). Books that once claimed an inalienable right on my shelves have withered into unimportance. Clothes that I once treasured have found their way into the recycling bin.

Transience. Everything shifts back to the source at one time or another. Even as I write these lines, the snow my son is vigorously shoving off the porch in veils of white will soon return to the heavens.

So while many have written resolutions to abide by, I make the single claim that time is my friend for as long as I have it.

Everything else shall pass.