I eased myself, chilled, soggy and worse for the wear into the morning of Jan. 1, 2013, and the last thing on my mind was resolutions. But ‘tis the season for making pledges; resolutions are filling the air around us, the way smoke fills a blues bar.
So I have formed a few thoughts on the topic. Resolutions used to be an annual thing for me, like cleaning out my car. That was back in the days when I was young and in my 20s and life was spread out before me, full of promise and adventure like a massive trampoline that’s waiting to be jumped on.
I’d make my list of personal goals and improvements each January, figuring that I had a year to get it right. Years have passed and become more precious, and the time I have to make changes is closing in on me. If I’m going to make a change, I don’t want to wait until January to start. Besides that, if I want to get something done, I’ve got about five minutes to do it in.
Really, I lost my taste for making New Year’s resolutions around the time I lost my taste for canned beer. And for practically the same reasons. I’ve since graduated to daily shots of hard intentions, if you will. I know, I know … it’s the stuff of which a certain road is paved.
But good intentions coupled with constant reminders of what needs to be done can be a powerful force. I want to be a more attentive mother. Well, the kids are standing right there: talk to them. I’d like these jeans to feel a bit less snug. Well, don’t go for a second scoop of ice cream. I need to be more organized. Well, get off the Internet and de-clutter this desk.
In a sense I am changing my world, one shot glass commitment at a time. I understand about new leaves and new beginnings and the significance of writing a different date when signing a check, and I recognize the importance of sitting back and assessing things every so often. But my January pledges always disintegrated by the time that new buds were appearing and then freezing on the dogwood trees. So I’ve cut that out.
My personal promises have to be made and kept constantly, daily, with each decision. It’s something of a race against time and my own memory; I have to meet that goal before I forget what it was. For me, my own resolutions have become more about the minutia of the moment rather than the beginning of a year.
That’s all I have to say on the topic. Now I’ve got to go clean out my car.
Robin Jean Marie is a writer and mother of four who lives in Dunwoody. Visit her blog at www.BringingEuropeHome.com, or contact her at firstname.lastname@example.org.