Second Take

It’s the last day of the first month of 2021. Already, my New Year’s resolution has drifted away into the ether like dust travelling along a beam of sunlight.

I ask myself what to do, what to do?

Do I begin again a second time?

Second month.

Second attempt.

Pick myself up and dust myself off.

Wipe the slate clean to try again.

After all, failing at a New Year’s resolution isn’t all that unusual. Most people fail. Most people fail by the middle of January.

Good intentions and no willpower. (And Lord knows the world right now isn’t exactly helping.)

A second attempt then.

So, what will it be?

Will I try the same failed goals as last time? The ones that focused on health and wellbeing, friends and family, finding something I love doing to pay the bills rather than simply clinging onto my job like it’s a financial security blanket (because it is a financial security blanket).

My second attempt must be better than that.

Or simpler than that.

Maybe the best second take on the beginning of a new year is to focus on one thing. But what is that one thing?

I rescued a cat in 2020.

Or the cat rescued me.

We’re still debating the topic between us. (The cat is probably right. After all, it’s a universal truth that cats do own their humans.)

Maybe I should focus on the cat.

He is a rescue cat and building trust with a rescue cat is a labour of love and requires commitment.

Like a feline Kylo Ren, he’s a brooding mass of black fur with hints of white on his underbelly.

He was sharp with claws and teeth at the beginning, with a habit of leaping onto my arm when I was fast asleep in the middle of the night. We’ve come to an agreement that such behaviour is not acceptable. (I sleep with my arms tucked under the duvet now).

I always make it a point to keep promises to my cat. I feed him, play with him with the only toy he’s deemed suitable (a simple shoe lace), and give him time in the great outdoors while the neighbourhood squirrel sneaks in through the open door and eats his biscuits.

Every promise kept between us is a brick in a foundation of trust and the Sith Cat Lord is slowly coming back from the Dark Side.

He’s less Kylo Ren and more Ben Solo these days. No, he hasn’t quite crawled into my lap yet, but he talks to me in his own way, reaches out with cautious head-bumps and snarky affectionate looks across the expanse of my his our bed.

I think the turning point was when he wrapped himself up in bubble wrap and let me take pictures. (It took almost ten days after his arrival for me to convince him to stay still enough for a photo to send back to the cat rescue people as evidence of his happy settling into his new home – or proof of life, one or the other).

I fully expect that when I am next trapped fighting an Emperor of Evil, my feline Ben Solo will come running to my rescue.

Our foundation is there; our trust is there now.

And, maybe – just maybe, this is where I’m going wrong with myself.

I beginning to realise that I don’t keep the promises I make to me.

I’ll eat better, I promise. But within a few days I give in to the temptation to tap on that app that allows me to choose from over 200 restaurants and have my food delivered.

I’ll go for a walk today, I promise. But it’s dark and it’s cold, and I don’t want to leave my cosy home. (I swear the voice in my head is a toddler having a temper tantrum).

I’ll stop working too hard at a job I hate, I promise. But it doesn’t matter if I work through lunch again really because those emails won’t answer themselves (I know I’ve tried that and it didn’t work).

I’ll make time for friends and family, I promise. OK, this one I do prioritise because it’s promises to other people not just me.

So.

That’s probably the root of the problem.

I just don’t keep the promises I make to me. No wonder my 2021 resolutions have already crumbled like a badly built sandcastle hit by a tiny wave. There’s no foundation; no trust in myself.

Well.

Time to change that.

This then is my second chance, my second take on this year’s new beginning: I’m going to keep the promises I make to myself.

I promise.

(And maybe, just maybe, I can become my own Jedi Knight).