I began this summer trying to imagine what it might look like to be a curator of my life and not an onlooker only. I've come to the very simple realization that this will be impossible apart from the twin disciplines of reflection and resolution - to look at my life critically and to live it intentionally. It will require more than this, of course, but it must at least begin here. To that end, here are a few short-term resolutions, in no particular order, easily achievable (to some degree) this year.


Resolved:

1. To shine my shoes.
   
   
   I mean this literally and figuratively. I believe that one of the marks of distinction between a boy and a man (and certainly no less between a girl and a woman) is that a man takes pride in and care of the things which are uniquely his. If I have determined to acquire something and dedicate it to a certain purpose, I must also take responsibility to keep it in appropriate kilter. That is, if I have bought a pair of dress shoes, I should keep them in condition to be worn proudly to church, on a date with my wife, or to dinner with the dean of the law school. If I have purchased a car, I should make sure the oil is changed, wash it regularly inside and out, and keep it in the condition to drive my wife, friends, or anyone who needs a lift without the need to apologize for the dirt on the outside or the mess on the inside. If I have borrowed a tool from a friend, I should care for it while it is in my possession, use it appropriately, and return it promptly in better condition than when it was given to me. In other words, I ought to be a trustworthy manager of all of my objects.
   
   
2. To improve my handwriting.
   I have come to believe that a person's handwriting potentially says quite a bit about them. At the very least, it says whether they are patient and whether they are considerate of those who may need to read their writing. Until now, my handwriting has largely sent the signal that I am impatient and inconsiderate. Because I realize my penmanship is so poor, the only writing that I do - by hand, that is - is for my eyes only. This may not seem all that problematic at first, but it has had at least two material consequences. First, it has inhibited romance. I'm hesitant to give my wife a handwritten note or even to write anything inside of a card other than my signature (which is equally dreadful and will be adressed along with my penmanship). Second, it has limited all sorts of social correspondence. I'd love to be one who sends handwritten invitations, thank you notes, and letters, but I'm reluctant because of my poor penmanship. In both cases - romance and social graces - I often resort to either typed correspondence, which comes across as clinical no matter how playful, intimate, or emotional the language, or else doing nothing at all, which is certainly the most unfortunate choice.
   
   
3. To improve my health.
   I have neither the time nor the energy to become the paragon of the male physique, but I could easily get back in the routine of simple daily exercise and eating well, and in the process lose 15-20 pounds. Though there have been seasons of my adult life when I've been in decent shape, for the most part I've not treated my body with the respect it deserves. And here I'm referring to more than just the need to rid myself of a few excess pounds. I need to cultivate habits that improve my overall health - physical, emotional, psychological, and spiritual. This demands that I become aware of a few primitive needs and responsibilities, the satisfaction of which will naturally lead to a better quality of life. Among other things, these would include the need to be challenged, the responsibility to provide, and the mindfulness of the legacy that my choices are creating.
   
   
4. To memorize the Man in the Arena passage from Theodore Roosevelt's "Citizenship in a Republic" speech given at the Sorbonne in Paris, on April 23, 1910.
   
   It is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming, but who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself for a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat.