How many times? I have had the same argument with myself countless times. I question my own abilities, my own purpose, even my own personal goals. I feel defeated by inertia. I am defeated by lacks, real and imagined. I’m done.

But I just can’t quit. I mean … I’ve worked so long and hard. I’ve sacrificed. I’ve tried really, really hard. “Do or do not, there is no try,” says Yoda. Bastard. Of course there is a try. No one starts out completely capable. That’s the whole damn point. Inching your way to mastery.

The beginning of a new year is often a time to look back and assess and then look forward and plan. I try to ignore this compunction. January 1 is not the beginning of anything significant. Each new day is just as important as the one before or the one after. Any day can be a the start of something new and enhancing.

But still, the “new year; new me” shit goes on.

Many of our lessons aren’t a slam dunk and move on. They are, of necessity, little minor victories which fade over time only to be brought to the surface again at a later date. The battle isn’t the war. And it is the war I want to win.

I want to win life. I want to end this thing being the person who chose well. I want to be the one who didn’t succumb to the mind-numbing routine of daily existence, but forged a new path and then had to keep clearing the weeds that cropped up along that once pristine path.

The battle can be won easily. Do the thing. Bam. That’s a win.

But the war … that’s far more difficult. You have to do the thing even when you would rather binge on Netflix or a half gallon of ice cream (chocolate mint, probably). The war is longer in scope and much harder to win.

So, despite my misgivings, my angst, my doubt, I will step into the breach again. I will do the thing again. And again. Even when it is difficult. Even when I would rather do any-damn-thing else. I will not quit. I will rage against the night. I will fight each battle and win. This is the war I’ve chosen. These are then the battles I must fight.