My New Year's Resolution

“Don't write about politics in 2025." This New Year's Eve piece of unsolicited advise from a friend who had grown more than a little weary of trying to understand how exactly we got here and could brook no more of my far too obvious observations on the failings of those who did not think exactly as did I. Or will not lead the nation as I in my infinite wisdom would.

"Write only about sports this year as that is what you do best" said another member of the peanut gallery sitting around the table. I know he harbors the deep belief that my personal pieces are an exercise in self involvement that border on the wholly unacceptable. And far too often spill over into a deep pool of unhealthy solicitation of fan applause.

"I really like your stories of a personal nature and I know (because I have so advised on numerous occasions) those are the ones that gather the most eyes." That position enunciated by yet another voice in this ever enlarging conversation. And yes, Virginia, tales of my children and grandkids, my parents, my sister, other relatives or friends definitely are the best sellers in my domain. Kind of like cheating on a test.

The undeniable reality is the one thing I seem wholly incapable of doing is shutting up. Of allowing some distance between myself and those who would turn their attention to me. As if they will forget me if I leave them to their own devices, their own lives, their own opinions. That if I permit them the slightest room to breathe I may be cast asunder. It is without doubt my insecurities showing.

So what should my New Year's resolution be? Take what's behind door #1, #2 or #3? Restrict my focus? Or step back or maybe step aside?

I fear I will just keep on keeping on the same treadmill as I have for over a decade and a half now. Spitting out whatever inhabits my brain in the moment. For it is most true, as the great philosopher Ricky Nelson, once said "you can't please everyone so you got to please yourself." Ozzie and Harriet's kid as my guiding star.

Sorry to disappoint those whose well intended instructions will be largely ignored. For the inevitable conclusion is that I am, unfortunately, what I am. Only less.