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How to Resolve
Yeah, it’s January 6. Most people have broken their New Year’s resolutions by now, and I haven’t made mine
yet. You think that’s bad, you should see the bright, shiny Christmas tree in
the living room.
One year, we did get ambitious. My husband and I made a firm
resolve to get up and go walking every single day at 6 a.m., without fail!
Problem is, New Year’s Day tends to fall on January first.
When we popped out of bed that morning, we noticed that it was 2 degrees
outside, and thick ice covered every sidewalk. So we went back to bed. And
didn’t exercise for the rest of the year.
So, yeah, some years we’re really efficient. But this year,
the process has captured my attention. As I was mulling over how to go about
resolving, my son walked past, chanting under his breath:
more productive
comfortable
not drinking too much
regular exercise at the gym (3 days a week)
“Are
those your New Year’s resolutions?” I asked, trying not to sound alarmed about
the drinking part.
“No,”
he said, “it’s a song by Radiohead called ‘Fitter Happier.’ It goes on like
that for three minutes, and then it ends, ‘In a cage. On antibiotics.’”
Oh.
So there’s an approach to the New Year, refreshingly devoid of idealism.
Here
are some others:
“This
year, break a bad habit, learn a new skill, do a good deed, visit a new place,
read a difficult book, write something important, try a new food, do something
good for someone who cannot thank you, take an important risk.” Awesome advice,
which I find my brain automatically rejects, because it came from Pinterest. In-a-cage.
On-antibiotics. Unless I count this blog post as writing something important
and cross that one off…
• At
work, my husband and his co-workers first made comprehensive lists of everything
they were good at, and everything they needed to work on. They spent half a day
narrowing both lists down to five items: things to improve, and things to make
even more awesome.
•
A neighbor told me that her elderly relations’ notable characteristics,
positive and negative, are growing more pronounced with age. An alarming
thought. I like my alone time—LOTS of alone time, and I like it a LOT. I can
see myself curling into a tight little ball, then fossilizing like that until
someone digs me up 200 years later and puts me in a museum. Which I’d hate.
Museums are full of people.
•
A couple of different friends choose a word to live by for the year: Ignite!
Love! Heart! Focus! Etc.! I kind of like etc., myself.
•
My friend Luisa
pointed out that, in baseball, a .3 average is awesome, and a .4 is legendary.
But when most of us make goals, we beat ourselves up for anything short of
100%. Not beating oneself up is a good goal, but it also got me thinking that I
could probably bat .95 in a T-ball league (Well, maybe .75). But what if I
signed up for the majors, and rejoiced in batting .3?
•
Which brings us to a quote from the newspaper: “My fears will eat me alive, not if I act on them,
but if I don’t.” Really gotta start those banjo lessons. Can’t spend my life fearing the
banjo.
So, yeah, New Year’s resolutions. So far I’ve made a list of
things I’d actually like to accomplish in a bunch of different areas, and
things (in a different color of ink) that I probably ought to want to
accomplish. Then went back and wrote in long-term wishes/visions for those
areas.
Further bulletins if I ever finish. Maybe after the ice on the sidewalk melts...
Yesterday I sent my friend a picture of the inside of my
bathroom cabinet. Note the items on the second shelf, ascending joyfully from
left to right. I’m eagerly awaiting a picture of my friend’s underwear drawer.
KonMari (a Japanesey cutening of the author’s name, Marie
Kondo) is kind of the Hello Kitty of decluttering drill sergeants. She
encourages a “tidying marathon” leading to respectable Dumpster-loads of
discarded stuff. 
