At last we are full fledged forced into another calender year, and per the usual all have weighed in on just how ultra amazing or super crappy 2012 was. And all I can think about is: the poor year.
Each year, every year, so put upon with anticipation, hope, woe, scorn, and glee. Another year’s worth of diurnal hygienic tasks from tooth brushing to toenail clipping to bowel movements, the most mundane of sun up to sun down activities to the most looked upon. Elections, premieres, births, deaths, graduations, whatever milestone life events you may imagine. And then all the emotion attached to each of these moments. The leaky tires, broken engagements, unfavorable rulings, and flat face failings that fall short the idyllic, escaping the sublime, and harshly clinging to a set of 365 days.
What a great year! What an awful time. 2012 can kiss my ass! I saw it all – at least I think I did – on Facebook and Twitter. And gee willickers people, is it really the year that might be incomparably awesome or immeasurably suck? Thank goodness years are intangible measurements of four seasons without a cognitive place, otherwise these encapsulated entities would think the world of themselves or be ready to jump off the Huey P.
After all it’s just a year. So you got rained on at the art market. So what! So the Saints got spanked again and again and again. What magnitude of commiserated fandom can alter the course of judgment? Meh, not much. So the fiscal cliff looms. Is it time to get back in your shell?!
Turns out a year is only a year, and most of what happens during it is (lean in real close here so I can whisper this right in your ear): completely out of your control. Art markets will be rained on. Professional sports teams will have hard seasons. And federal policies will often leave you scratching your head. But leave the calendar year alone. It didn’t do it. It just told you when it all went down.
When you were wed. Or when you watched your younger sister or sister-in-law walk down the aisle. When your first born took its first breath or first step. Or when you untimely lost your best friend, favorite person, spouse, or all three. The culmination of the holiday season places us on pause just long enough to look back and feel whatever. And then we resolve.
I’m gonna lose weight! I’m gonna exercise more! I’m gonna climb Machu Picchu! Ugh already. Take a page from Yoda and do. All these resolutions never seem like much more than I’m gonna try to do something.
Our lives are not measured in years but in days, and it’s really easy to lose sight of that as we place so much emphasis on what’s next and compare it to what’s happened. My point is stop attaching a year’s worth of emotions to the year. Wake up each morning with a full sense of possibility. Grab your umbrella, double knot your tennis shoes, and keep your passport handy. There are Incan ruins that await you.
Jean-Paul Villere is the owner of Villere Realty and Du Mois Gallery on Freret Street and a married father of four girls. In addition to his Wednesday column at UptownMessenger.com, he also shares his family’s adventures sometimes via pedicab or bicycle on Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube.