By Oh Young-jin
City Editor
Turning my desk calendar to December, I found I was debating with myself over whether to make a list of New Year's resolutions for the coming year.
This internal self-conflict ― a fight between the old me and the new me ― is nothing new. Recently, far more often than not, it is the old me that has prevailed. I simply have been skipping the end-of-year rituals and forfeiting my chance at change.
On the one hand, I felt that I needed a list to guide me through the coming year. Past lists have ended up being a bunch of things I knew I had little chance of achieving.
For instance, in my teens, it included studying five hours per day after school, not watching TV except on Sundays and reading a novel each week.
By my 20s, I had not learned my lesson; my list included studying to get a perfect score on the TOEFL or straight A's. But I was secure knowing that the purpose in making nearly "impossible" goals was that I was preparing myself for my future role: changing the world for the better.
A hint of reality kicked in during my late 20s and early 30s, causing my list to become more focused on monetary goals and health-oriented ones.
But I was still lost at sea without a compass, engulfed by a two-pronged tsunami of reality and remorse.
The remorse came from a glance back at the past lists of unrealized resolutions.
Despite the fact that I listed quitting smoking as near the top of the list many times, I smoke.
Although I told myself that I would cut down on drinking, I drink.
I watch television for hours, commercials included.
My vow to exercise daily fell flat when I felt like passing out after seeing 250 on what I call the "calorimeter," while running on a treadmill at my gym. I had planned this painful regiment after reading a newspaper column in which the author, apparently far older than I am, boasted of logging miles equivalent to 410 kilocalories in consumed energy. My sense of competitiveness was piqued. After failing to beat him, I came to a self-protective conclusion that he had cheated.
The reality is that I am not as materially blessed as I dreamt; I am occasionally reminded of this by my wife or with a quick peek in my wallet.
A near-finishing blow is that the world has changed a great deal but I feel like I have played no part in that transformation. What's worse is that I realize that I am having a hard time in keeping up with the pace of change.
When I was about to give up in listing my New Year's resolutions, I decided to take another look back on my past lists just to make sure that I hadn't missed anything.
It came to me much like I imagine it did to Archimedes when the Greek philosopher cried, "Eureka," while stepping into the bathtub.
My discovery was not included on the past lists. It could only be understood by reading between the lines.
That moment came by being keenly aware that my shortcomings were directly related to all those things on the lists I set myself out to achieve.
This means a ray of hope ― the only thing Pandora successfully kept inside her jar and saved for her posterity.
Hope is there for the taking; you just have to be willing to grasp it.
This hope is strongly coupled with wisdom, a kind of wisdom that grows with age. In mundane terms, it is the "I've been there" that an adult whispers to himself, remembering the trials and errors of the past, when looking at a junior fumbling with a given task.
It also comes with a stronger sense of responsibility.
No longer distracted by a futile search for alternatives, the wise make sure the ship safely gets to port.
I knew from the start of this column that the new me would prevail and I would make up a list of resolutions. For one, I believe in change, for better or worse, because no change means being stuck on perpetual death row, simply waiting for the warden to call your name. The only chance for escape is attempting that change.
The instant I tried to start writing my 2010 New Year resolutions, I hit the writer's block. As I stared at the blank sheet of paper for a long period of time, one thought came across my mind ― 'Maybe next year."