Oh. A resolution.

Oh One, Oh One, Two Oh Two Oh. Oh. Yet another day. Yet another “milestone”. Yet another opportunity for obligatory self-flagellation, self-aggrandisement and the imagining of a better manifestation of me a year from now.

How will I get better this year you ask? Oh. Same unkept radical, mundane ways I promised myself last year, and the year before? Read more, write more. Be a better human. Do more exercise and eat well, but somehow also have more fun with friends and drink more whisky. Find balance and space and get good sleep, but somehow also work harder at everything and become rich whilst saving the world.

New things to add are to avoid paradoxes and find a cure for cynicism.

Or do something different this time?

Focus on one thing.

Focus on writing.

Use words to understand myself, my contradictions, my rationalisations.

Use sentences to cast a light on the challenges I see and the challenges I am.

Use paragraphs to cut myself open, right down to the bone, and bleed into the world.

Get out of my comfort zone and focus on improving my craft.

Try different types of writing. Scribble a short story before bed. Compose a poem on the train.

Get some books about writing. Before that, read the books about writing that I already have. Find a writing mentor. Get off my arse and get to my local writing club.

What I write won’t be good. Not yet, at least. I’m promising that I will write, and I hope for your sakes that I get better as I do.

The 10k runs and kale smoothies and every other wholesome thing I want every damn year are just a bonus this time round.

Sort of.

I obviously still want to get fitter and eat better and do more work and get more rest. But this writing malarky comes first.