As the first of January loomed after the parade of Christmas cheer I thought of these resolutions everyone speaks about. Why wait until some arbitrary date on a calendar to change who you want to be?
Yet undeniably, there is an appeal to a new year, a fresh start, a new you. The same way that after a break up a woman changes her hair to signify the rebirth of herself as newly single. We go through these physical transformations to tell ourselves that our insides are going to change too. That our shorter brighter hair will make us less lonely.
That this New Year will be different. We will be different.
I make and break resolutions every year like countless others.
Though I’m learning with each scratch mark ticked in the age column that things aren’t mysteriously going to happen to me. I will not suddenly become magically thinner just because I want to be, but will not work for it. I will not have millions of dollars just because I want them. I will not suddenly be one of those people with perfect hair, makeup and outfit every morning because I’m not willing to wake up more than fifteen minutes before I leave. Wanting is simply not enough. January 1st is simply not enough.
My resolutions are not for this year. They don’t end on the 31st of the year, nor solely begin on the 1st. They’re not bound to dates, or a foolish hopefulness. It’s action not desire. Momentum not stagnation.
Amongst many things, I am tired of being a pushover. Tired of bending over backwards and contorting myself like a trapeze artist for people who are never grateful and rarely return the favor. I was wisely told that in times of adversity we truly learn who are friends are. I’m not holding onto stray thoughts of who a person once was. Trying to hold a shadow and never quite grasping it.
I’m walking out of the waiting room. I’ve read every magazine. I’m not going to wait for my life to become something greater just because I wish it so. Perhaps its because I leave for the Happiest Place on Earth on Saturday, but I’m feeling good.