We survived 2016, so let’s plunge ahead to 2017
Happy New Year!
Greetings from the future!
It’s 2017 and, to be honest, 2017 sounds like a made-up year, like a year from a 1960s sci-fi movie featuring trim actors in skintight silver onesies sipping blue drinks as they negotiate sexual tension and their planet’s imminent demise.
And speaking of imminent demise, this is the year I turn 60 … if I make it till November. Plenty don’t. Carrie Fisher made 60 but not much more. George Michael fell seven years short. As my friend Paul says, “They’re calling our row.”
I spent a good portion of this holiday week at my dad’s nursing home in Lansing, Michigan. Not exactly Funsylvania. Still, he’s my dad and, at 85, who knows how many more holidays he has?
Or how many any of us have? My brother only saw 56.
The year we’ve just left behind was, to be kind, strange. Between the endless, ugly election, the monstrous Syrian slaughter, terror attacks, the Cubs winning the World Series and beloved entertainers dropping like New Year’s Eve confetti, it’s hard to imagine how many decades will have to pass before 2016 is remembered as “the good ol’ days.”
But we survived it, right? We’re still here.
You’re reading this column. These are my fingers typing. Maybe you’re nursing a hangover, resolving to be better, to do more, to shape up and, hopefully, not ship out. Any year you live through is a good year, even 2016.
When I was younger, time was oppressive. It was time for school. Time for bed. Time to do my homework. When you’re a kid, time drags like “Manchester by the Sea.”
I spent my childhood wishing time away. “I wish it was summer,” “I wish it was Saturday,” “I wish it was my birthday so I could be older.” When was the last time anyone in Hollywood wished they were older?
Then one day Chick Dumas, a wise old man of 55, said: “Kid, you’re wishing your life away.” How right he was. Now I wish time would slow down. My bucket list seems to get longer as my days get shorter.
So despite the troubles that will inevitably come my way this year, I am resolved to plunge ahead, to buckle down, to finally get my act together and make this year THE year.
I’ll probably come up short like every other year and, next January, end up saying many of the same things.
2018? Is that a year or a hotel room?
One hundred years ago, in 1917, Woodrow Wilson was president. Two hundred years ago James Madison was commander-in-chief. In 2017, Donald J. Trump will be president. This thrills some, horrifies many. One hundred years from now, in 2117, what will our heirs make of our time?
The answer will greatly depend on what we make of our time.
Doug McIntyre’s column appears Sundays. Hear him weekdays from 5-10 a.m. on KABC AM (790). He can be reached at Doug@DougMcIntyre.com.[SOURCE]