The Only Resolution

Thought Catalog

New years are supposed to be about fresh starts. About new beginnings and start-overs and impossible possibility. But every year, instead of diving forward into the pool of chance, I find myself sinking helplessly into what once was. Memories flood my throat like quicksand, warm and fierce and treacherous. Because the past isn’t dangerous at first. Like quicksand, in small amounts, the past is captivating. It’s majestic. But it is also deceivingly potent. Like quicksand, the past snares its oblivious prey. Like quicksand, it fills in the empty space, pulling its quarry deeper and deeper until, it discovers much too late that it has lingered for much too long; it discovers only after it has asphyxiated.

This year, I don’t want memories. I don’t want wishes or goals or resolutions. I don’t want the fantasy, the promise of tomorrow. I don’t want plans or agenda or deadlines. I don’t want…

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