Every new year I head into it thinking this is going to be my year.
2016, the Chinese year of the red fire monkey, I’m taking a different philosophy. This will be my tax write-off of a year.
Too often I raise expectations thinking a new calendar will make all the difference and come January I will have grand epiphanies, memorable accomplishments, and carve some ambition into my lazy bones. By February it becomes clear that all my thoughts have been recycled, my actions have had no meaning, and the only carving I’ve done is an imprint of my buttocks into the couch.
2016 will be different.
I will expect nothing.
2017 will be my year.