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.

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