Somehow, there seems to be a debate over resolutions. Not over what we should resolve to change or improve, but whether we should resolve at all. We are in the time of accepting our imperfections, even celebrating them. Self-improvement is yesterday’s religion. Self-love was too big. Acceptance is the new baby of pop psychology. *not to be confused with throwing your hands up in defeat.
This kind of hall pass thinking is not my jam. I love the idea of progress and momentum, especially when it comes to the inner workings of my mind. Resolutions are a chance to start over, wipe the slate clean, forget about the failures of yesteryear and give it one more college try. So while it may be passé to list the things I’d like there to be more or less of in the coming year, I can’t stop myself from taking a running leap off the dock and yelling, “CANNONBALL!!”
There are the usual suspects: drink water; go outside; read books (particularly ones without recipes); meal plan; stop yelling; go to bed earlier; practice piano; spend time with husband; abide by the time limit I set for myself on Instagram.
Then there are the big fish in the pond (although, I suppose they all are, since if the ones I just listed were easy I wouldn’t have to keep resolving to do them).
Big Fish #1: Life
I am desperate for family adventure but I tell myself I’m so tired from keeping the ship on course that I don’t have the mental energy to plan any deviations. I had an idea a few months ago to give one family member the opportunity to pick an activity each Sunday. I told this to a friend and, immediately, she and her family adopted the regime. I believe they took a hiatus over Christmas, only to make room for family advent activities.
Last weekend, they took their kids cross-country skiing, something I’ve been wanting to do for years but have continually believed was too complicated to handle on my own, both in terms of logistics and managing the inevitable resistance from my clan of alpines. So, instead, I spend Sundays in my pyjamas, planning meals, baking muffins, ordering groceries and attempting to get control of our self-perpetuating pile of random papers, all while lamenting the lack of joyful, camaradic variety.
This system is clearly not serving me. We live in eternal winter. Skiing shouldn’t be that hard.
Big Fish #2: Food
I used to have a lot of hangups about food, particularly when it came to what kind went into my kids. One might argue I still do. I got into a power struggle with Luke on New Year’s Eve over the merits of organic honey and instructed him NOT, under any circumstances, to let the children consume even a teaspoon of the industrially produced pedestrian honey he brought home. And no, I was not drunk.
Despite this vehemence, I go through phases of apathy during which exhaustion allows my standards to slack. I call this, “December.” This is when three slices of cucumber counts as a daily vegetable and they routinely eat their body weight in refined sugar and chemical additives.
I need to get their treat obsession under control, be more organized about meals, become a vegetable lobbyist and stop relying on packaged granola bars, largely due to the waste.
Big Fish #3: Photography
Do I even dare say it? A 365. Eep! From all the interviews I’ve heard with photographers who’ve tried such a thing, I gather the best way to approach this is with grace and self-compassion. That is to say, lowered expectations. The goal is not to create an award-winning masterpiece every day. The goal is to experiment, branch out, and attempt to capture the monotony of routine in a continually different light.
I will try not to winge too much about having to do this with a two pound DLSR instead of a fancy little mirrorless, or about the fact that, thanks to it being a leap year, it will actually be a 366.
Big Fish #4: Writing
Same old same old. Do more. Don’t get caught up in the mental anguish of creative fear. Do it because I enjoy it and not with the hope of some desired outcome.
Big Fish #5: Train Dog
This is one of those tasks that is largely infuriating and unsatisfying until one day, with hope, it’s not. Check back in three months to see her pulling espresso shots and Konmarie-ing my towels.
Medium Fish: Clothes
Wear something other than jeans and a sweatshirt. Buy underwear.
Priorities
Any one of these ventures could take up all the time between drop-off and pick-up, minus all the recurring daily responsibilities. I’m sure the trick is to break things down into manageable pieces. And let go of perfection. And prioritize (underwear, definitely). And to say no when people ask for snacks.
On second thought, cloning might be the better option.