It’s such an intoxicating idea: hang a calendar and a whole new person emerges. Here we go. I am now completely in sync with time itself, hence the new me will be easily measurable. Because establishing a definitive start date to my good behavior was always the problem, right? How many birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, Mondays, and twelve o’clock midnights have I relied on to start over in my life? To begin again and erase my latest embarrassment?
Step 3: made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God, as we understood Him.
And what do I hang, along with my new calendar? All my hopes, dreams, and resolutions, of course. It’s the latest Me! model, fresh off the line. I’ve still got that smell. It’s a wonderful rush, the idea of new and clean and pristine. Starting now, I’m who I want to be. Who I want to be. Who I want. I want.
That’s quite a lot to have riding on the flipping of a piece of paper. Remember, I haven’t actually done anything yet: the calendar came free in the mail from the Chamber of Commerce. I need to make sure that my willingness and resolve are aware of the date as well.
But that’s the problem with my alcoholism and the calendar: both are undeniable absolutes that I want to deny. That’s the secret they don’t tell you: everything is only this moment, and the more time I put into dwelling or anticipating is time not spent in the now. I’m a time-traveling isolator.
The will of God? Maybe it’s to live on the edge of the page that’s turning.