For 2022, I've decided to make wishes instead of resolutions. In my humble opinion, this is no time for common sense.
Here are my wishes in the disorder they popped into my head. They might be silly but I mean them anyway.
To run up a hill, or maybe even a building, with no problem (like Kate Bush).
To invent the words that exactly describe these feelings I can’t quite explain.
That the fairies will answer me back when I know they’re there.
For bats and swifts to make a massive comeback.
For acts of corruption to create such big stinky wafts, such actually and infamously fishy-rotten-flatulent pongs, that everybody notices and says ew, and knows who smellt it dealt it, so that anyone who does corrupt gets embarrassed and doesn't do it again.
To discover a practical use for menopausal heat and rage – perhaps as an alternative to fossil fuels or nuclear power, or maybe just to make myself a cup of tea.
That there shall be a vegan cheese which is so delicious it makes my eyes water.
To be able to clean the oven by singing at it.
To only say the right thing when people are upset.
That in an unexpected moment, on a Tuesday, we all think aloud in our many languages something like, 'Phew, this last couple of years have taught us a thing or two about ourselves, haven't they?' And then, hating goes way out of fashion, quickly followed by hoarding. And then, all the human people get totally into fellowship and creating and sharing nicely. That's quite a big wish, but they can't come true if you don't make them.
Which brings me to my final one. If you're making wishes for the coming year, I wish for the best of them to come true.
Image by Debby Hudson