Each morning, I sit down with pencil in hand to ruminate upon the upcoming year in crafting resolutions. Sometimes, the things I consider come off as just another toggle of a long to-do list; it does not capture my passion. It is just a serialization of that which is helpful, whether task procurement or my skillset extension. It has all the emotional depth of pulling a socket wrench off the shelf at Home Depot.

Maybe that is life in my forties, as I'm just 4-5 years down the road from 50. Am I just relegated to weighing the value of just another minivan? What captures the passions of my heart? Or can I even have that? Am I in the space where I leave that dusty tome on the shelf so that I can loop these brooms around the room again?

Do my New Year's resolutions capture my heart for 2024 or do they they encase me in pre-formed styrofoam, just another socket wrench on the shelf?

Of course, all of this contends with the external, that which I do. And the heart, well, that is the internal. And thus, what are my motivations that project this flurry of activity in the upcoming year? To what end? Is there life beyond the checkbox?