I've been sitting here trying to sum up the year, and it's honestly hard to do. I am not going to sit here and call it the worst year ever, or call it a Dumpster Fire of a year. I don't even know if this year will actually ascend to become one of those Years of Wonder, the ones that history majors can recite off in their sleep (to whit: 1066, 1492, 1516, 1776, 1815, 1863, 1914, 1939, 1944, 1969, 1989, 2001). It was a year were Globalization and Liberal Democracy were beset with setbacks, where the British voted for Brexit and we (and I still can't really believe we did this) voted for Donald Trump to be....to be the President of the United States. Phew. It's hard to even to write it.
And there was a Syria, and the Siege of Aleppo which was Tweeted in real time, and all we could really do was wring our hands in anguish, if we cared to do anything at all.
Meanwhile, Death stalked the Earth like a giant, stalking thing, reaping the lives of our favorite celebrities at the rate of 0.4 celebrities per day, which is worth like 10 normal people and some 100 Syrians, apparently. I usually don't get too misty eyed over the deaths of singers and actors and the like, especially when they are advanced in years, though the passing of Ellie Wiesel gave me pause (I actually had the privilege of seeing him speak at VT), and the recent loss of Carrie Fisher and her mother Debbie Reynolds is a sad story, proof that you can still indeed die of a broken heart. But honestly, good people, I can't spend everyday next year mourning the passing of yet another movie star or singer, no matter how endearing and beautiful and incredible they may have been; I can't do that anymore than I can summon outrage at Donald Trump over almost everything he says no matter how much he deserves it. It's just too exhausting.
So a bad year for the world.
But oddly enough....it was a good year for me.
Work is going well. I got a few poems in a regional journal. Kids are healthy. Wife has found a bit of joy with Jamberry and Trim Healthy Momma. I finished my masters degree (pending some administrative stuff). The new anti-depressants seem to be still doing their job, two months in, and that is a blessing.
I also read a whole mess of books. I met my goal of reading 20 books, and as I am an engineer by training I felt compelled to do run some numbers. Here are the salient facts:
- 20 Books, a total of 8759 pages
- Marickovich's Top Pick of 2016: "At the Existentialist Cafe" by Sarah Bakewell
- Marickovich's Honorable Mention 2016: "Napoleon: A Life" by Andrew Roberts
- 4 books by Female authors, 16 by Male authors
- All books written by White people
- 13 books were written by English Authors. 7 books were by American Authors.
The most striking thing is that 13 books that I read were written by English authors. Note that that is not British authors, they were all rather English. Not a Scot or Welshman in the bunch.
And, perhaps more damningly, not a dark skinned person either.
So that gets to my New Year's Resolutions. Last year I picked the squishy and vauge Oprah like mantra of "Live into your best self". Well, this year, I am going to make it simpler.
First, I am going to try and read 20 books again. It won't be easy, because I have some real heavy hitters sitting on the shelf that I want to get to this year (Montaigne, Rebecca West,), but I think its a worthy goal. But next year, when I put my books into a spread sheet, I want to see a but more diversity. More women, different races, maybe a few more nationalities. Heck, maybe even a Scotsman (though lets not push it). It's not merely for the sake of political correctness, for the sake of seeking diversity in its own right. Rather, it is because if this year has taught me anything it is how essential it is to hear other voices and other experiences, lest we get stuck in our own silos. It's hard to get out of your particular niche in society and see things from a different point of view. Art (and in particular novels and poetry) is the bridge on which we experience other voices and gain a broader perspective.
Second, I really want to start doing more Yoga. I don't seek oneness with the self or anything like that. I merely want to make sure that in 20 years when I get out of a chair after a meeting at work I can do so without all my joints cracking like a kid popping bubble wrap, and without my back and limbs being stuck like the blades in a poorly maintained pocket knife (a third resolution is to write with a little more imagery, experiment with similes, in case you haven't guessed).
Well. Adios 2016. Hello 2017. I'm not sure hanging a new calendar on the wall is going to change things much for the world at large. As the white water rafting guide said to us when he missed his line on Sweet's Falls: "I'm sorry Fellas...this is gonna hurt".
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