O to be a nearly comatose cat lying on one’s back on a rug in front of a red-hot woodstove, arms and legs outstretched to the world, the only movement made by a tail twitching just often enough to be reminded of how nice it is to be warm and lazy and nearly comatose in front of a red-hot woodstove.
I never make resolutions in January. My annual proclamations tend to emerge closer to swimsuit season, but they don’t all revolve around weight. Juxtaposing a new spring fashion season with my other resolutions, however, is convenient when evaluating unfulfilled and sometimes misplaced goals.
And while old failures have never prevented a refrain of, “Wait till next year,” last night’s “Coming Out” party gave me hope that this year may actually be different. Last night I had the privilege of joining other aspiring writers at Hubbard Hall in Cambridge for the kick off of The Writer’s Project, a workshop taught by author Jon Katz.
I expected to feel intimidated sitting at the metaphorical feet of a best selling author, but instead, as he and we talked about ideas and story telling in all it’s forms – old and new – I began to feel liberated. Liberated to revisit old ideas from new perspectives and to tell those stories, even if I do so poorly at first. And, even as Jon pushed us to find avenues for sharing our stories, his encouragement to write without fear of failure helped all of us begin our (as Mr. Katz put it) “Coming Out as creators”.
So now, new promises are already being made – morning pages or a post every day, stay on the diet wagon, exercise. Normally, I’d only have to wait for swimsuit season to see my first failure, but liberation is empowering. I hope it’s contagious in the other parts of my life.