It happens every year about this time: Whatever gym I’m going to suddenly becomes overpopulated with people I’ve never seen before.
“Resolutionaries,” my Ledger colleague Lucas Hendrickson called them in an article two Januarys ago. I’ve always called them “resolutionists,” but either term serves: People who have resolved to get in better physical shape for the New Year.
From my perspective, they are a pain in the gluteus maximus, taking up time and space with equipment and weights they’ve little knowledge of or aptitude for. I look forward to their inevitable loss of will power, in a few weeks or whatever it takes. At which point the universe will return to its normal equilibrium of motion/stasis.
Resolutionist – or resolutionary, if you prefer Lucas’s word – is not a complimentary description, in my usage. Except maybe now, as I consider becoming a different sort of resolutionist myself.
Resolved: I will take steps to ensure that the results of November’s election do not wreak havoc on my mental health in 2025.
Unfortunately, so far as I know there’s no mental health equivalent to the gym. No emotional lat pulls to work through (Five sets of six? Three sets of 12?), no personal-sanity bench presses to power out. No psychological treadmill to burn away the melancholic calories.
So Kayne and I have been brainstorming other possibilities to inject some regular doses of enjoyment, in the hope that they will help forestall the gloom that might otherwise creep into our attitudes.
We’ve self-prescribed a regimen of travel, sprinkled throughout the year so as to never be far from the next adventure. Ideally, at least one outing a month.
They don’t have to be long or expensive excursions, though we do hope to include a couple of those. Visits to other countries, starting with a Scandinavian holiday that was derailed last year. And then maybe Portugal, which we’ve been talking about for ages. No time like the present … or, say, next fall.
Mixed in would be shorter, driving trips involving an overnight stay or two.
One of the beauties of Tennessee is that it offers quite a number of possibilities for that, ranging from state parks to small towns and cities worthy of exploration. We’re already booked for a couple of those in the coming weeks.
Visits with friends in nearby states – Kentucky and Mississippi, chiefly – can help fill in the calendar. Add to those my twice-yearly baseball rambles with friends Ed and Glenn, and whatever solo jaunts grab Kayne’s fancy, and the itinerary starts to fill up nicely.
There will still be a lot of between-trip time, of course, with the potential for gloom creepage every time the news delivers the latest outrage. And, given my political leanings, outrage is sure to be in steady supply.
After 50 years of a career and retirement life that pretty much focus on staying abreast of the news, it’s going to be a challenge to maintain some mental distance from the goings-on.
That’s where I’ll need the wisdom of the Serenity Prayer to kick in, especially that part about accepting the things I cannot change. Which, when it comes to national affairs, pretty much means everything.
But I don’t intend to tune out all politics. Shenanigans by the Tennessee General Assembly, governor and other officials will still be fair game for my attention and commentary, as well as whatever agenda items of interest the Metro Council can deliver.
So we’ll see how it plays out. Soon the event Kayne and I refer to as Coronation Day will take place in Washington. We’ll be on one of those Tennessee mini-trips, hoping to ignore it. And wondering if our resolve can last for four years.
Joe Rogers is a former writer for The Tennessean and editor for The New York Times. He is retired and living in Nashville.