Not so many years ago, I used to think of the New Year as a grand event, a time to look back and look forward and make plans for I didn’t know what.  Bigger, faster, stronger.  More.  Different.  Whatever.  New Year’s Day put a noble face on restlessness and disappointment by calling it resolution.
            Such nonsense.
            I have a friend who has said over and over again that the world is perfect just the way it is. 
What about that?
            What if the world really is perfect?  What if we are all beautiful, all the right weight, all of sound heart, all of sound mind?
            What if all we do and all we give are the right things and enough?
            What if we are all beautiful?  What if there is no need to stand before the mirror and wonder how to get rid of this roll or that wrinkle?  What if our bodies are records of the lives we have lived—and we love and respect the story?
            Maybe it would be easy—easier—for the world to love us back. 
            My mother’s sister died on New Year’s Eve.  While it was not a surprise—she had been sick for a while—it was a shock and a sorrow. I feel bad for my mom, who counted her sister among her friends.  I feel bad for my aunt’s family as they mourn their matriarch.  I can’t imagine what they are going through.  I can’t imagine this world without my mother in it.  As my heart goes out to them, I don’t want even to imagine their loss.
            Thinking about what it means to lose an aunt, a sister, a mom, a grandmother, a mother-in-law, a sister-in-law, I have no desire to live in the moment.  I want to live in the rocks and trees, the snow and clouds, my puppy, my daughter, the bread we toast, the keyboard through which I weave the connection between my life and others’ lives.  I want to take this whole beautiful world to heart and be it. 
            Because what else is there? 
The world, I think, craves an open heart.
            My New Year’s resolution?  I am resolved to see this life for the beautiful work of art that it is.  To love well and expect nothing.  It’s all so exquisitely good.

            Thank you, Aunt Marge, for being here.