I stopped making New Year’s resolutions years ago. Like most, they lasted a week or two until they disappeared into the abyss, going the way of lost dreams, odd socks, and Tupperware lids. This year feels different. I have done much I’m proud of in the last year, but…but. Why must there always be a but? I’m leaving 2021 with a feeling of unease. I’ve been unemployed for almost two years. That’s it. Nah. Not it. (I just have to interject a little sidebar: the first time I typed this, “unemployed” turned into “unplowed”. And that’s all Imma say about that.) I digress. Being at home, I have watched more Christmas movies then ever before, and I can honestly say, I’ve seen every version of Christmas Carol ever made. There’s an unspoken rule about the holiday season that every movie, tv special, social media post and commercial show family, both biological and chosen, as perfect. Holiday dinners, family vacations, smiling. Laughing. Embracing. Finding ways to be together even when far flung and far apart. Huh. My family doesn’t look like that. We are far apart. We don’t get to spend many holidays together anymore. We don’t call each other every day. We’re prickly. And a bit cranky. We walk on eggshells sometimes. We aren’t always comfortable telling each other everything. But. There’s that but again. I love them more than anything. I would do anything for them. Anything. And I know that love is returned. And I think my unease might just be the fear speaking. Fear that they don’t know how much they mean to me. How lost I would be without them. Fear that I’m not doing enough. Showing up enough. Being there enough. So. My New’s Years resolution. Let’s be serious. I’m still not gonna call them every day. And cranky? Please. I was born whining. So, my resolution is two-sided. On one hand, I want my loved ones to know I will be here for them, always. And I will accept that we are as much of a TV family as anyone else. We’re just a little more Munsters than Walton. Happy 2022 to all.