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2022 ended with me happy and in my bed reading the first volume of Edmund Morris’ superb three-part biography of President Theodore Roosevelt.

Books, blankets, and a healthy dose of quiet always make for a happy me.

I blissfully drifted off to sleep in the early hours of 2023. All was well.

Then my alarm clock went off at 6:30 a.m. I coughed hard. I coughed again, cleared my throat, and said, “Oh, jeez.”

Well, I didn’t exactly say that, but this is a family paper, so a little sanitizing is necessary.

Anyways, my voice came out like a cross between a frog’s croak and the nascent stages of puberty.

Happy New Year to me.

Coupled with an earache and a pesky cough I hadn’t been able to shake since I got home from my holiday excursion to Florida, I decided it was time to go to the urgent treatment center.

Everything seemed easy enough in theory. There was no line when I got there, and the paperwork took two minutes to complete. Good times, good times.

Then the receptionist called me back to the window as soon as I plopped myself down in a chair.

“Mr. Taylor, we will need to administer a COVID and flu test before you can be seen.”

Yikes. I know it was necessary, but nothing says good morning quite like a cotton swab trying to make out with the far recesses of your nasal cavity.

After my close encounter of the cottony kind, I was ordered out to my car until my test results were ready.

Again it seemed easy enough, and the rest of my visit turned out to be.

My results came back negative, the nurse practitioner said I had a bad cold and prescribed me some meds.

All I had to do was go to CVS in an hour to pick up said meds, and I was home free.

So I hopped in my vehicle and scooted on over to the Common Ground located off of Man O’War Blvd. in Lexington for a cup of tea and a sandwich.

Life and the new year were good again.

Then I pulled up to the drive-thru window at the pharmacy.

“Well, Mr. Taylor, it looks like your insurance does not cover these medications. The good news is that I can use a discount card for you, which will lower the price; we are just about to close for lunch, though, so it will be an hour.”

Aye caramba.

So to Richmond Rd. I went to wash my vehicle and have a telephone chat with my mom – you must keep mom informed about your health; that’s a rule.

After I hung up with her and I went back to CVS. The line for the pharmacy was five cars deep.

A tremendous sigh escaped my lungs, followed by a weak cough and squeaky chuckle.

It had certainly been quite the morning and not the lazy one of reading and binge-watching “John Adams” on HBO Max I had planned.

Instead, the first day of 2023 rewarded me with a nasal invasion, four hours in the car, and a voice I hardly recognized as my own.

So, what does this have to do with anything?

Well, for many, the new year is a chance to wipe the slate clean and start anew. Browse your Facebook feed or Twitter timeline; you will see plenty of resolutions. Check back in a day or two, and you will see the customary “Well, my resolution is already broken” posts.

I’ve never understood the mindset that you can just hit the reboot button every year on January 1.

Life doesn’t work that way.

You can plan and hope, and the world will throw you a screwball every time.

Existence, like my New Year’s Day, is an odyssey. You don’t know where you will go or where you will end up.

Good or bad, we must enjoy the ride, even when we end up with cotton up our noses.

But that’s just my take. What is yours?

Warren Taylor is the associate editor of The Winchester Sun, Jessamine Journal, and Harlan Enterprise. When he isn’t sharing his takes on the world, you can find him reading presidential biographies or trying to break a month-long losing streak at bar trivia.