by Leon Archer
Did you make any New Year’s Resolutions? I wasn’t going to because I have a tendency to make resolutions that are more like wishes and they are seldom realistic. This year, however, I do have a couple resolutions I believe I can live up to.
My first resolution is: I will not bow to the tyranny of the urgent, but I will give a higher priority to the things I want to do, not those I think I have to do.
Or simply put, I am going to enjoy myself more.
I have spent way too much time trying to live up to the expectations of others, ignoring the fact that I have some needs of my own that only I can fill. I am going to put some balance back into my life.
My second resolution is: I am going to write at least 20 hours a week. This resolution does not contradict or conflict with my first resolution. I started several writing projects that I very much want to get back to, but I have let each one of them languish. That has to cease. I really enjoy getting off by myself with my thoughts and a full pot of coffee.
I enjoy writing this column, but there is so much more that is struggling to get out of my head that has nothing to do with outdoor sports; all I need is time.
There, I’ve gotten that off my chest, now what’s happening out and around? I know the skiers and snowmobilers are in their glory. This winter looks like it is on track to be all that last winter was not for them. I’m happy for them, but I am no longer a snow person. I used to be, but somewhere along the way I lost that part of me that thrilled to see the first flakes of early winter snow, looking forward to the cold blanket that would wrap my world for the next three or four months.
Even though I now see snow as mostly an inconvenience that needs to be removed from driveway and sidewalk, deep down inside I can’t help but envy those who delight in its presence.
I have fond memories of winters past, sledding as a boy, ice fishing with my father and brother, and hunting small game that usually had better sense than I did when it came to wandering around in deep snow.
We often came home with a pack basket full of jack perch from Sandy Pond and a warm sense of accomplishment that somehow counteracted the stiff aching fingers and chilblains.
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