I know all the cool kids are sharing memes of Robert Downey Jr rolling his eyes about New Year’s Resolutions, but as far as conventionally celebrated holidays go, New Year’s is not only my favourite, it’s pretty much the only one I like. They should create a new Scrooge/Grinch character who hates Christmas AND Easter AND Valentine’s Day AND Halloween and they should name her Nadine. Besides that: I am not one of the cool kids so it’s all good.
I love the new year though. I suppose in the same way that I kind of like Mondays (although admittedly I like them less now that I home school). No, I’m not in to the parties and the drinking and the low-key experiments with drugs or the accidentally bumping into people having sex in public stuff. I kind of make it a point not to leave my house on New Year’s Eve these days (although funny enough even though we had a very low-key New Year’s at home again this/last year, we still managed to accidentally stumble upon some awkward hanky-panky in the middle of the crescent…well…my husband stumbled upon it while trying to figure out why all the dogs were barking…he told me though so I knew they were there and even though I couldn’t see them it still felt awkward…)
I do like the symbolism of it all though. The idea that the old can be put away as we make room for the new. Even though it will mostly fail. Even though, like every other year, the coming one will throw you the sorts of curveballs that even my writer’s mind could never have hoped to conjure. That’s ok. It’s still a hopeful feeling. (also it’s weird that I made a sports reference…though granted I’m not entirely sure which sport)
I don’t really know what my resolutions are this year, to be honest. I have a vague idea, I suppose. Like if I sat down and thought for a little while I could probably come up with a hundred things. Or I could just google a generic list I suppose. I usually have giant writing aspirations that spiral into failure around week two. The writing stuff tends to be a little too big though. You know? Fitting my style of work ethic as far as novel-writing is concerned into family life is a little bit like bashing one’s head against a rock, but without the added benefit of becoming blissfully concussed afterwards. Maybe my resolution should be to disappear once a year to one of those month-long digital nomad retreats. That would be super confusing though: would I share those experiences here or on Passing the Open Windows? This is what I get for going niche…
Smaller resolutions though. Perhaps I should start there. With silly ones like painting my nails more often, purely because chipped nail polish makes me happy. Or learning how to actually put on mascara without it being a mess. Maybe I should get a tattoo or dye my hair purple. Definitely I’d like to buy a new lens for my camera, and continue to learn how to use it more effectively. And I need to save for travel. Do more yoga. And probably I should practice doing flat-lays because the one I made for this post is bloody terrible.
These are bandaids, at least, right? Small bites of distracting pleasure while I choose to neglect the thing that I should have locked myself away to focus on years ago.
Perhaps I need to learn how to turn the writing into small bites…
Because the thing is: If I die before I’ve finished writing them all down then they die with me. And that really fucking bothers me.