The Last 100 Days of the Year

100Tomorrow begins the last one hundred days of the year. What are you going to do with those days? Will you finally get around to the New Year’s resolutions you made and promptly forgot? Are you going to plant the tulips you’ve always wanted? Are you going to do that house repair project you’ve been putting off? Or instead, are you going to give up and find a new place to live? Are you going to ease up on yourself and take a break from the breakneck speed of your life? Are you going to push yourself to get a better job? Are you going to get going on that novel you wanted to start, continue, finish, or edit? Are you going to make inroads in the pile of books on your nightstand, or finally read some of those ebooks you downloaded? Are you going attempt the photography project you’ve been thinking about? Are you going to make a commitment to blog every day?

That’s what I’m going to do — make a commitment to blog every day. I’ve been blogging every day for the past 730 days, and I intend to extend that commitment to the end of the year. Feel free to join me! We can help each other, offering encouragement or topics when the will begins to wane. And the will does wane. When I was grieving, it was easier to come up with topics than it is now when I am in a more comfortable situation. It’s hard to find lessons in being at peace. I suppose peace is a lesson in itself, but what can you say beyond that you’re at peace?

I read once that reading and writing go hand in hand because reading is inhaling and writing is exhaling. (That’s how I always felt about reading, as if it were a type of breathing.) Keeping up with this blog is how I am exhaling, though I’m not sure what I am actually exhaling. I have little to say, no real inclination to say what I do have to say, and no wisdom (at least not that I can discern) with which to say it, but still, I do manage to find something to write about each day. My sincere apologies for the more mindless posts and my eternal gratitude to everyone who reads anything I write. A special thank you to those who comment, and a heartfelt appreciation for the thought-provoking responses. It’s always good to have more thoughts in my head than simply those I put there.

This has been mostly a good year for me, so it’s not as though I’m counting down to the end of the year in order to get rid of this one. It’s more about making this year count, or at least making the last 100 days count, rather than simply counting the days.

So, what about you? How are you going to make the final days of this year count?

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator

6 Responses to “The Last 100 Days of the Year”

  1. rami ungar the writer Says:

    I plan to go on vacation and see some places I’ve never seen before (I was born in one of them but left when I was too young to remember it). I’m also going to do a lot of writing and see if I can’t get a few more acceptances this year.

  2. Estragon Says:

    For now, 100 days is a time frame I’m avoiding giving much thought to.

    In the back of my mind, I’m considering what an expiry date closer to 30 years than 30 seconds might look like, but mostly it’s what’s reasonably doable in the next few days I’m trying to focus on. That could be due to the multiple lock downs throwing a wrench into medium term plans, or more likely just that a medium term to-do list is overwhelming at the moment.

    The breathing metaphor is interesting. The inhale part is obvious (gaining oxygen/insight). Could the exhale part be making space for the next inhale?

    • Pat Bertram Says:

      I hadn’t considered what the exhale meant, but of course, it would be making space for the next inhale. It’s hard to inhale and inhale again without exhaling. The exhale would also be about getting rid of what is unnecessary or perhaps even harmful, or perhaps simply making sense of what one inhaled.

      • Estragon Says:

        I wouldn’t suggest making sense of what one has inhaled is simple, but putting words to it may be a way of bringing a sort of structure to otherwise chaotic thoughts and/or events.

        • Pat Bertram Says:

          That’s why I started writing about grief. The whole experience was totally incomprehensible and utterly chaotic, and putting my feelings into words helped bring a sort of structure to the horror. It didn’t make grief easier, but it did make it less alien.


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