Resolved

I was never much of a New Year’s Resolution guy. When I did bother to make promises on December 31, I managed to keep them at pretty much the same rate as everyone else—i.e., not at all. Still, the idea of looking back and thinking ahead is a nice one. I’d like to find a way to do it that’s meaningful to me—a way that might actually stick.

In Jewish tradition, the High Holy Days are meant for reflection, atonement, and cleaning the slate to prepare for a new year (the Jewish new year begins in the fall). There’s even a ritual in which you take lint from your pockets (or bread crumbs, if you prefer) and cast them into a body of water as a performance of ridding yourself of the stuff you no longer want in your life. I’ve always liked that. But the rest of the world is thinking about the turning of the year now, at the start of winter. Is there something I can make use of now, that could ground resolutions and make them more meaningful?

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Chanukah, our winter holiday, can be a strange one unless you’re a child or have children. Once the gift giving and dreidel playing is out of your life, it’s hard to know what to do with the holiday, if anything. It’s hard not to get overwhelmed by and swept up in the Christmas of it all. Which is fine. I’m used to dealing with that. But if you can get past the “Eight Crazy Nights” aspect of Chanukah, there is something serious in there that’s worth making use of as an adult.

The holiday is meant to be about dedication. The historical event it commemorates is the reclamation of the Israelites’ temple from the pagans who had taken it over and desecrated it with idols and pigs’ blood. The Israelites clean the temple, purify it, and re-sanctify it (that’s where the miracle comes in—they only had enough oil to light the lamp for day, while new oil was being prepared, but it lasted eight days). They reclaim and rededicate. They start over. So…we could use the occasion to think about the idea of dedication and reclamation in our own lives. That’s what people in the Jewish Renewal movement did with the holiday, back when I used to read about them. I always thought it was a smart approach, though I never did anything with it.

This year, with my two sons fully grown and not expecting gifts and doodads every night, and especially in the weeks after the horrific events of October 7 in Israel, I wanted to do something more real with the holiday. So I decided to use each candle—each night—as a way to think about some aspect of my life that needed focus and dedication. I figured I could use those reflections (which I posted on Threads throughout the holiday) as my new year’s resolutions.

I decided to start close and work my way outward. The first candle was all about my past. What dreams, hopes, and beliefs from my earlier years had I let slide, or allowed myself to lose? What did I need to rededicate myself to in the coming year? That was my focus for the first night.

The second night was all about present-day me: mental health, physical health, spiritual health. What was I not paying attention to while focused on wife, children, work, etc.? This was the easy one, to some degree: eat better, exercise more, lose weight, meditate. The usual New Year’s Resolution stuff. It will probably fall by the wayside before anything else, but…maybe I can try better this year.

For the third night, I focused on my future. I turned 60 this year. What things required commitment and re-dedication from me as I looked ahead and thought about what I wanted my third act to look like? What did I say to myself at my birthday and then promptly forget when things got busy?

The fourth candle was for my family. With my wife trying to get through Long Covid, with its endless fatigue and brain fog, and both adult sons living at home for the time being until they get their next steps managed, family has been front of mind for me this year. But dedication to other people has to mean more than doing what I think is best; it has to mean giving them what they need, and listening to learn what that is. I want to be better at that in the coming year.

The fifth candle was for my friends. I'm a middle-aged male, typical of my species in my lack of care and feeding of close friendships, especially with other men. I could do better. I want to try to do better. Loneliness can be a killer, and being silent or un-forthcoming in a friendly but superficial crowd isn't much better.

The sixth candle was for my community: the town I live in, the school board I serve on, the company I work for. Where is more focus, more dedication, more intentionality required of me? I did a whole presentation earlier this month for my company’s sales reps, talking about "intentionality of implementation." Where in my life do I need to heed my own words and be more mindful and purposeful for my community?

The seventh candle was focused on my country. This one was hard. I know I need to find ways to be of help and of use in the upcoming election. It’s going to be a strange and maybe scary year. I’m not sure what I have time and energy for, and what I can do, myself, to fight against the inevitable ugliness and partisanship and primal reactiveness. But I should do something.

With the final candle, I thought about the health and safety of the Jewish people, worldwide. As an American who grew up in the 60s and 70s, it’s not something I ever really worried about, or felt I had to. I grew up safe and mostly ambivalent. It took me until my 40s to feel comfortable saying “I’m a Jew" out loud. I still hesitate a little before writing about it in any public forum like this. But, again, especially after October 7 and the alarming rise in anti-Semitic rhetoric and threats, there's no room for ambivalence now. About the Israeli government and its policies, yes; about who I am, no.

Resolutions that expect you to magically become someone you’re really not (someone “better”) are bound to fail. We can only be who we are, and who we are has to be enough. But maybe if we focus on the best parts of ourselves—even if some of those parts lie latent or hidden—maybe if we dedicate ourselves to being ourselves, in the best way possible, we can have a better, stronger, and happier new year.

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Scenes from a Broken Hand is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.