My 2024 Aspirations

And at the end, one ask of you, my dear reader.

These are not my resolutions—merely uttering the term after years of being pressured to set them sends a shiver down my spine. Nor are they my goals. After three decades in business, crafting measurable and deadline-driven objectives, I refuse to impose such rigidity on my personal life.

No! These are aspirations. Isn’t that just an elevating word? To ‘aspire’ has such a ring to it. To lilt at the ending of the word…ire…just makes me think higher, drawing my gaze skyward. Okay, okay, I’m getting carried away, but who can begrudge aspirations?

So, here they are:

I aspire to refine my narrative voice in this weekly essay. Yes, that's what I'm calling it now—a weekly essay—not a newsletter (which I chose by default). And now I want to clarify what the heck I’m doing with this thing.

Crafting this weekly essay for the past four months has been an eye-opener. I had no idea it would be this enjoyable, this intellectually stimulating, and admittedly, this challenging. It has honed my spiritual beliefs—and challenged me to rethink what I thought I thought. It’s improved my relationships—forcing me to learn to lean more into my intuition. And it has given an outlet to my inner yammering—much to the chagrin of some of my friends;)

Narrative voice is a peculiar thing; it’s a blend of tone and substance. It’s very hard to quantify and even great writing teachers struggle to explain it. Well, here's my attempt: Narrative voice is to writing what a face is to identity. Each of us has a one-of-a-kind face, the subtle arch of a cheekbone here or the breadth between the eyes there. And when you see that face in a crowd, it’s unmistakable; it leaps out at you; you just know it! Similarly, a distinct writing style is unmistakable.

Narrative voice is also about content, the substance of your thoughts. And I'm still trying to get a grip on exactly what I want to say now that I’m nearly Medicare-eligible. Should I continue to write generally about life and relationships and faith in God? Or should I narrow things down a bit? Honestly, I don’t know. Hence my aspiration to refine. (Let me know if you have an opinion.)

I aspire to take on something that, for a year now, has been brewing in my soul. It’s an idea that just showed up one day, unannounced, unbidden, and for a while, unwelcome. It was like someone plucked a red-hot coal from a fire, carried it with tongs to my heart, and just dropped it there, hoping it would smolder and glow and perhaps ignite something. It was an idea to write something in an entirely new genre, something I’ve never dreamed of writing, of a size that is completely unruly.

I tried to push it away; I tried smashing the coal; I even labeled it as frivolous and something no 65-year-old in his right mind would attempt. But it wouldn’t stay away. It’s like a weed I plucked, but by pulling it I only multiplied its root branches giving it ten new stalks. Then I sprayed it with Roundup and even that wretched chemical failed. Finally, I rototilled the ground around it, but that only spread the seeds more.

So, what do you do when something possesses you? What do you do when something boomerangs back around, bounces around your brain, whispers ideas to you, pulls at your soft spots, urges you to just take a gander, come on, just a peek?

Well, if you’re like me, after a while, you just accept it; you agree to it; you embrace it as one of your aspirations for 2024 (and probably ‘25, ’26 and ’27). So, now I just call it my “little secret project.” My family knows nothing of it—not even Joyce. Okay, okay, because I know many of you will ask, yes, Mumford knows, but he’s committed to not spilling the beans.

So, this year I’m going to nurture this little bugger, I’ll weed and water him, fertilize him with some compost, shelter him from the blazing summer sun in the summer, and see if I can turn him into a sunflower, his fiery petals unfurled, his face curled to the sun, his flowerhead creating a thousand of his kind.

And you know, I’ll admit, it's kind of exciting to have something big like this. I journaled about it a couple days ago and wrote: This could be the last big thing I complete in my life. This could be my swan song, my last hurrah, my coup de grace, my adieu, adieu, adieu to you and you and you, my final words… Yes, I do get carried away when I journal, but seriously, this aspiration is a biggie and could take years to complete.

Stay tuned. I will probably unveil it in my aspirations for 2025.

On a personal note, in the year I turn 65, I aspire to be warm. I know, what a weird choice of a word: warm. But warmth is what resonates with me. When so much within me wants to be cynical and surly and judgy and holier than thou, I want to choose warmth. I want to be welcoming and approachable and optimistic and sidled with a good sense of humor and, well, warm. Both inside, toward myself. And outside, toward others.

And finally, HERE’S WHAT I ASPIRE FROM YOU: I would like you to ask me for advice.

I know, I know, that is awfully presumptuous and pretentious of me. I’m no Oprah or Dear Sugar and I don’t fancy myself to be. But I do have two cents; I have my two cents for you. And you can add them to the other cents you collect to make your dollar. That’s how smart living works, I believe.

Not many people have more than two cents, in my experience. Okay, maybe a few have three or four. But not much more. Crowdfunding is the way to go when it comes to decision-making and smart living. So fund away and let me be two of your cents.

This year Matt asked a great question about faith and reason. Jess, my son, asked a great one about raising a boy in this neutralizing culture, and others posed good questions. So, keep it up, if you will.

So, there you have it: my aspirations for 2024. Pray for me. Share with me your reactions to what I write. Challenge me. Give me your quandaries and musings and questions—I want your two cents, too!

Best, Ken

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