If you asked me for my New Year Resolution, it would be to find out who I am. (Cyril Cusack)
When a close friend asked me about my resolution for this year, I gave her one of those toothless, emotion-hiding smiles and replied, “Same as last year.” A vague answer. I haven’t recovered enough from 2020 to make a resolution.
When my husband and I visited Ireland several years ago, we pretended to be Canadian. I was ashamed of the so-called home of the free and the brave. That situation has deepened since the mob riot attack on the United States Capitol today.
The news continues in a loop. I don’t know where or when it will end. Growth and learning can happen. The hard way, but it can happen.
I refuse to claim importance because of my birthplace. America. White ethnic heritage. I prefer saying I was dropped off by aliens from another planet. I am one human being. One. My size, shape, color, ancestry, and religion are random like an ace pulled from a deck of cards.
Growing up in the middle of the twentieth century, I was told by parents, teachers, and peers who to be. The ten commandments carried all the answers.
Life isn’t that simple.
The view from an airplane shows no detail. Areas of land have clear borders. Yet, houses, cars, and people hide. I could decide now to do a thousand things, from using time better, to writing daily, to turning into a 74-year-old muscle master.
Instead, I plan to keep my inner-eyes open. To listen to valid criticism with clear ears. To accept honest compliments. I am alive today. It is not too late. For me or for my country.

