238 Shifting the Baseline

The politics of the nation echoes the need to be regenerated. With the new year comes a vast opportunity to emerge united, to manifest a better life. Housing, food, and healthcare, basics for the masses.

A new year always asks for a new baseline. People like to make resolutions. I don’t think I have ever used that term for things that I seek to do. No one seems to be successful with a “resolution”. Traditionally, exercise equipment becomes a clothes hanger before February.

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Photo by Polina Kovaleva on Pexels.com No one seems to be successful with a “resolution”.

So many things ask to be regenerated. My financial sheet, the banking, and the way I address the medical challenges and diet. The ostomy is undergoing a supply revamp, as it shifts and changes with a hernia. We had to buy new bed sheets, mundane. My computer drown (to death) and the new laptop has a lot of those “original bugs” to work out. The examples are mounting, and overwhelming, and frankly, somewhat ridiculous.

I feel like I am in a forest fire, like Elsa in Frozen, working to put out fire after fire. For each that is quelled, two more arise. I can lower their impact, keep the size down, but none subside. They are small because of my efforts, but continue to grow in number. Endless.

The politics of the nation echoes the need to be regenerated. With the new year comes a vast opportunity to emerge united, to manifest a better life. Housing, food, and healthcare, basics for the masses. Addressing all people as human, as valuable, and reflecting that in policy and policing. The earth. Rejuvenation of a tired education structure. Respect and support for small businesses. So much more. We have the capacity to be strong and exemplary. I can see the potential. It is bright and exciting, waiting on the horizon.

Yet, the apparent beginning burns old structures. I wish it was less literal, as I watch the heated battles and painful images. They are the forest fires that clear the ground for rebirth. The aftermath leaves the ashen rubble, the stench of smoke and death. The new growth promises bright colors and tender shoots, the fluffy bunnies, scurrying squirrels, and baby deer returning from places unknown. Patience. Time. Compassion. We can do this.

Gratitude for goals achieved in the previous year.

Author: Michele Plumb Stowell

Michele Stowell was a teacher, a hand holder, and encouraging voice. Born an early Gen Xer, she has lived in Western Washington for the duration. Her children, two spectacular genetic daughters and an uncountable number of marvelous scout and school sons and daughters, shine as her biggest impact and her greatest blessing. Just before her 54th birthday, Michele was diagnosed with stage four cancer. Her writing and art work are expressions of the drama and the joy of living earth bound. On October 24, 2021, Michele was released from her physical body, transported to continue her work on other realms.

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