This year I couldn't really think of anything to add or take away. I'm not claiming any sort of enlightenment or achievement of relative perfection. I'm just not sure of any particular direction I should be taking. I guess I just don't really know what I want to be when I grow up. I'm thinking that the more or less of what I need to obtain the place, thing, outcome I will no doubt come up with over the next year, will reveal itself in due course.
I like to think of it as taking a holiday like the summer ones you had as a kid - the ones that seemed to stretch on forever until you were excited to get back to school. The one's that were filled with West Australian sun and beaches and backyard shenanigans. Playing under the sprinklers, eating watermelon and spitting the pips and reaching into the fridge for cold cherry plums. Of feeling the wind whipping your long hair through the open windows of the car on a hot summer's day and peeling the backs of your legs of the vinyl bench seats when you got to your destination. The steel wool sensation of having your feet brushed free of sand with the old broom head that lived in the boot, ready for post-beach visits. Eating loquats and mulberries from neighbourhood trees and riding your bike at twilight. Of jumping into the deep river and dodging the brown jellyfish that outnumbered swimmers ten to one. Of terry towelling and fringed towels and sun umbrellas. Of washing off the zinc and sun cream and watching the bottom of the shower fill up the sand you'd stored in the gusset of your bathers.
The only navel gazing was the one that produced blue lint.
So for now I'm quite content with the lack of a plan of action. Better or worse. Give or take. More or less.
Happy New Year.
Here's to sand filled gussets and belly laughs with those who think you are ace no matter your tan lines.
