Please tell me you didn’t make any New Year Resolutions as the bin-fire that was 2020 finally sputtered to a halt.
I mean, eat more veggies if you like, take up Taekwondo, stop swearing, learn the trombone, adopt a cat, whatever, it’s up to you but for heaven’s sake don’t beat yourself up if your good intentions have crashed and burned already. Life’s difficult enough without a dank pall of failure hanging over your head because you haven’t kicked your daily Snickers habit or turned your loft into a relaxing yoga nook.
Of course, it’s understandable to aspire to bring about improvements as the year turns around. But back in December, January seemed merely theoretical, a distant concept over a cloudy horizon, full of potential for reinvention and renewal. But now it’s here, turns out it’s just plain old January, isn’t it? And after the year we’ve just endured, it’s a bit of a stretch to expect to morph into a better version of ourselves just because there’s a new calendar up in the kitchen.
Yet expect to morph I do. I was only half-kidding when I told the family I want ‘She Meant Well’ carved on my headstone. There’s a bit of the do-gooder in me, tucked in amongst all the worrying, forgetfulness and cheese cravings. Small things, like driving considerately, recycling, smiling at sullen teens on pavements, sharing soup in warm Kilner jars. It’s all adorable but with so much misery in the world, shouldn’t 2021 be the year to go bigger?
The first step
My only brush with a truly global figure in the Highlands happened in 2001 when I was overtaken by Bill Clinton’s motorcade as he was returning from a golf jolly at Skibo Castle. It still unsettled me. There, in that car, sat power. A single human who had one day decided he was just the person to change the world. Whether he succeeded or not isn’t the point. I’m interested in that moment when he took the first step.
From my home in the Highlands, the cataclysmic goings-on in the wider world seem so distant, it often feels like we observe them from a far-off, more fortunate planet. There’s a vast abyss which needs to be crossed to take a person from grumbling with friends on walks, towards the place where real change happens – particularly for women.
I have so much admiration for the women who took that first step towards making the world a better place – then kept on walking. Malala. Greta. Jacinda. Emmeline. Florence. Alexandra. Rosa. Dolly. What gave them the courage to begin? And what did they sacrifice in the process? Look at the abuse some now receive, on social media and beyond. As the doughty recipient of a grand total of one abusive message so far in my adult lifetime I can say with certainty that these things are distressing, however much I made a show of shrugging mine off at the time. Multiplied and magnified, it must be horrific. I applaud their inner strength to keep going, then I get back to chopping onions for soup.
Life’s too short
I’m too disappointingly fainthearted, it would seem, to step away from the soup pan and into politics, for example. I get wounded if someone doesn’t like my soup, take unkind criticism to heart and want to cry if I see an old man sitting on his own in a café. Even at home I loathe argument and have no time for people who think we should all take a robust view on everything in order to hold our own in some dreary armchair debate. Read a book on it if it bothers you and leave me be, I grumble to myself. I’ve soup to be getting on with.
What I do resolve to have in 2021, is optimism. It’s that lovely feeling first thing in the morning, before life comes crashing in to our senses. Optimism is that surge of release when we take a deep breath and find ourselves smiling after a great big cry. Optimism bruises easily from the force of a negative word or from someone’s narrow-eyed, sideways glance. Optimism is shy, hiding behind the seemingly immovable obstacles of our difficult realities.
Optimism is ludicrous, sometimes, when the odds are stacked against us and yet sometimes, it still wins out and shows us its value so we may have it again to keep us going next time. So, yes, optimism for a wonderful year to come. And gallons of soup.
Erica Munro is a novelist, playwright, screenwriter and freelance editor
