Anyone care to explain to me how it can possibly be a new year already? By this time, the Elves are no doubt sunbathing in Bermuda, the reindeer have dropped into hibernation, and Santa has already archived this year’s Naughty or Nice List and is programming the new one. I am only one glass of champagne away from total denial. The year 2022 sounds like a diabolical new science fiction feature that warns the faint of heart to prepare for the horror of post-apocalyptic technology withdrawal (or something equally as ridiculous).
 
I read recently that 1980 and 2022 are as far apart as 1980 and 1938. Can that be right? I have to re-do the math. Good heavens. Perspective has never been more horrifying. The minutes, and the hours, and the days, and the months are a rollercoaster ride that accelerates faster and faster as they accumulate. One perpetuates the next until it is totally out of control. Time is a mind bend that takes no prisoners.
 
I really do wish someone would stop the frickin’ merry-go-round. But a new year is here and so we celebrate. The drop of a crystal ball in Times Square will indeed breathe life into many a tired old soul – as well it should. We have the choice to wallow in the fear of tomorrow or jump on the bronco and ride. I choose to tighten my saddle and hit the trail. With any luck, Kevin Costner or Sam Elliott will sponsor the journey so “2022” can be my own “Yellowstone” sequel. Hey, stranger things have happened!
 
Happy New Year everyone!
 

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