Resolutions from the Mastiff side

Hey, if "distaff" can refer to the female half of a couple, then "mastiff" should be the male half, right?  And it would make the distaff happy if, along with our 65 nations, we had a blog viewer who was a mastiff...

So I've read Nora's resolutions, and I'm deeply humbled.  (That happens often for me; I learn things from her—about forbearance and resolve and compassion and curiosity and a hundred other ideals—and I think about the rest of my day a little differently.  I'm a better person because I know her, and the more I know her, the better I am.)

I'm still very aware, six months in, of all the things that are happening for the first time.  Our first married Thanksgiving, our first married martini, our first married joint holiday cards.  And tomorrow will be another, our first married New Year's Eve.  In many ways, we've been here before.  But because it's our first, because we've had our share of elsewhere, we are going to stay home, have some friends drop in. We'll sit in the living room and talk and laugh and have a toast at 12:00. This one feels different.

More importantly, 2012 feels different.

I once wrote to her that she was magic in a bottle.  I repeated those words on our wedding day half a year ago.  And I'm thinking about them again tonight.

In fact, this is the letter that I wrote to her on June 25th, and that she read to the community that afternoon.

My Nora,

I’m sure that you never imagined all of this when I asked you last August if you would marry me.  I’m sure that you never imagined all of this when I woke you up on New Year’s Eve with a date in mind.

I’m sure you never imagined the blog.  Or the spreadsheets.  Or the rings. 

It’s been a whirlwind of the unimaginable, but now we’re here.  And I just wanted to take a minute to remind you of a couple of things.

I want to remind you that you are a generous and gracious friend.

I want to remind you that you have changed my life. 

I want to remind you that you are magic in a bottle.  Still, and always.

I want to remind you to stop, right now, and look at our friends.  Go ahead, stop.  Right now, for twenty seconds or so, just stop and look.

These are the people who have held us.  These are the people who make us more than we might otherwise be.

Just as you make me more than I otherwise am.

We are better together than apart.  We are better here than anywhere else.  I was contented on that evening last summer when you said yes, and put on that carrot bracelet.  Not happy, exactly.  Not excited.  But fulfilled, completed, at home.

And today is the same.  Happy, certainly, and a little excited. 

But also fulfilled.

And completed.

And at home.

With my full love,
Herb

So what does that mean for 2012?  It means that no matter how many demands I receive from work or from professional colleagues, I will remember that she, and we, deserve consideration as well.  It means that I need to do my writing, to and help her do hers.  It means remembering every day what "home" is, and ensuring that I help to make it.  It means focusing on what we have and what we can do rather than what we don't and can't.  It means fitting our jobs to our passions rather than the inevitable diminshment of working in the other direction.  It means being creative about the kinds of work that might lead to the values we hold.  It means remembering that everything we choose to do means that we are not doing other things, and that we should weigh the balance consciously rather than default to habit.

It's too easy to fall into labels and categories.  I'm "a college administrator," or "a teacher," or whatever it is.  But really, underneath those job titles, I'm trying to accomplish some things in the world, and I might have those effects more fully or more broadly through some other medium.  2012 needs to be a year in which we keep those values and goals more visible than the roles we use to achieve them.

And I resolve to hold all of you close in this coming year as well.  As the cliche goes, you never wish on your deathbed that you'd answered just a few more e-mails or read one more issue of the Chronicle of Higher Education... no, you wish you'd spent more time with your friends and your family, more time making the world better for yourself and others.  That's the work of 2012.

Nora closed her resolutions by wishing you all a "bounteous" 2012.  And I concur, but I'd also add the wish that we all think this year about the "bounty" we most desire.