For months, our computer has slowed to a crawl whenever we open up Adobe Lightroom.

It makes photo post processing a chore; frustratingly so, as I actually quite enjoy taking photos and turning them into something more artistic – something outside the realm of inexpensive hobby photography.

It’s not just that program, though. It’s everything. It’s Photoshop. It’s whenever I open up two programs at once. It’s maddening, and it’s driven me to curse numerous times. At a machine. Which, by the way, can’t actually hear me and, also, has no feelings.

My solution: buy a new computer.

Through a blind devotion to the idea of finally getting a Mac and through the slightest hint at acceptance from the other decision-maker in the house (Kerrie, who, at the time, worked on a Mac and desperately wanted to bring one home as well) I began making plans.

A new computer. That would be the fix.

We simply can’t do what we do on this computer, I thought. We have outgrown it, despite the fact that it is still quite modern, purchased five years ago specifically so it would last longer, perfectly equipped to do everything we need to use a computer for.

How many times does this happen in life?

This car isn’t up to date anymore. I need a new one. That idea is stupid. Scrap it. This sweater has a hole in it. Throw it away. This person has done me wrong. Forget about them.

There’s always something better on the horizon – whether it’s something new, or something different, or simply nothing at all, just the peace of knowing a hard patch has passed without reconciliation. It’s so much easier to move on, so much harder to simply fix the problem.

Today, I ordered 2GB of RAM for our computer. It will come this week, and our computer will be fast enough to run Lightroom. And Photoshop. At the same time, even. Instead of assuming we needed something new, I finally got around to doing a little research. Working on the problem. And I found out it was a lot easier than I had ever expected.

All I needed to do was stop wanting and wasting. All I needed to do was dig a little deeper.

The new year began with little fanfare. We toasted. We kissed. We went to bed.

We relaxed. We refused to make resolutions. We watched Sierra wander around a large cabin, discovering and learning and hitting on boys. Or hitting boys. One of those.

We enjoyed each other’s company; a vacation company that resulted in a few new acquaintances and a few scattered memories.

Time moved on. And we let it.

I could have resolved a lot of things. To eat better. To stick to my convictions. To give myself more credit, and to understand when things are going well.

But instead, I’ve realized something even more important. That it’s hard, but at times, you just have to let things go.

You have to let the blog run dormant for a few days. You have to leave the pictures on the camera, the dishes in the sink, the conversation on idle, knowing that in most cases, you’ll alert the right people and your audience – whether it’s friends or the public or simply your own thoughts – will return, never even blinking at the gaps.

Because time always moves forward. It’s not an amazing thought – in fact, it’s kind of trite. But it’s true.

Time moves on. It doesn’t give a shit about you. So when you realize that a new year is just a new year – just something else to celebrate, a reason to create memories and to change your habits – you appreciate the fact that, indeed, it IS a new year. Not that much different from the last. But new all the same.

Not a starting point, but a continuation. Not a period in time, but a bridge from one moment to the next.