Resolving

Sometimes I suffer from an absurd lack of imagination. I get stuck in stupid patterns, never questioning why or how a daily A leads to a weekly B, let alone if A or B are even good choices. I’m not proud of it, but there you go.

But what I lack in quotidian vision, I try to make up for in big-picture delusion.

You see: I love New Year’s Resolutions. I find the concept of self-improvement addicting and each year I Have a Plan. One or two simple changes and I can be smarter, wittier, in better shape, or have fewer wrinkles. In essence, I Can Be Better.*

(*We have a ratty old piece of paper magnetted to our fridge on which my husband transcribed a quote from Lindsay Buckingham, guitarist for Fleetwood Mac, that we heard on, I believe, VH-1”s Behind the Music [don’t judge]: “If you’re any good at all, you know you can be better.” Profound, right? I mean, I’m not the man’s biggest fan, but that’s some genius thinking right there.)

We're real high class with the magnets.

In the past, I’ve had mixed results with NYRs. Fresh flowers in the house at all times: a winner. Drink half my body weight in ounces of water every day: not even close.

For this year, most of the resolutions I’ve toyed with involve Celebrating What I Have. Wear the stuff in my closet, even the funky vintage stuff (especially the funky vintage stuff). Give thanks for every day that the big C isn’t a part of our lives. Enjoy my hilarious and wonderful family. Behave like the kind of person I want to hang out with. And above all, I want to remember: Life sucks sometimes. Excuses suck all the time.

Thanks, LB.