I'm usually not big on making New Year's resolutions. Self-improvement should be just as important a task in July as it is in January. I am good, however, at breaking resolutions because they usually involve denying myself something that I enjoy. Yes, in 2011, I could LOSE some weight. I could GIVE UP caffeine. I could swear LESS. I could QUIT smoking. (OK, that last one isn't so bad. I'm on attempt number four!)
However, in the spirit of ABUNDANCE, which I spoke about in an earlier post, I want to develop a list of resolutions that EXPAND the possibilities for health and happiness for me and others. So, here's a working list of "MORE" resolutions for 2011:
MORE Mindfulness of the food I eat, the body I inhabit and the planet we share
MORE Work that truly matters, both professionally and personally
MORE Advocacy for causes about which I feel deeply
MORE Connections with people that are real and sustainable
MORE Explorations into big ideas and cosmic questions
I'm sure I will think of MORE resolutions in the coming days and weeks, but this is a good start. Most of all, I wish everyone in 2011 more PEACE, LOVE, FORGIVENESS and ABUNDANCE.
"Life is not an exact science, it is an art." - Samuel Butler
I came across Butler's quote last week, and it came to mind again as I watched the sublime documentary Rivers and Tides this morning. In it, viewers journey along with artist Andy Goldsworthy as he creates incredible natural sculptures using stone, wood, leaves, twigs, clay and even, sheep's wool. Through his art, Goldsworthy combines art, engineering, metaphysics, science and architecture to communicate our rootedness to the earth and how transient what those roots produce can really be.
One clip that particularly struck me was a wood sculpture - a hut? a dam? an inverted basket? - Goldsworthy constructed on the banks of a salmon hole in Nova Scotia. As intricate and meticulous as his work was, more important was what happened as the tide came in and began to strip away planks from the edges of the sculpture.
After watching this, I couldn't help but be struck by a comparison with a funeral barge floating out to sea. But, in this case, "the barge" slowly came apart through the force of the water surrounding it, except for the uppermost structure – the core – where the smallest pieces of wood were woven much tighter. I also thought about how much it was like some primitive hut set upon by the tide. In life, we each build our huts – some of wood, some of stone, some of gold – but with death, the superficial, the extraneous gets peeled away and left behind, and all we are left with is the tightly woven core – that work of art – of life – that truly mattered.
And now, we come to the end of another year. We have all been busy building ourselves, our families, our businesses, our political ideals, our educations, our dogmas, and our dreams. But did we build what truly matters? Did we strip away the unnecessary? Did we let go of the superficial? Are we, individually and together, weaving a core that will withstand the changing tides?
