I’m not one for labels or resolutions. Something about the absolutist attitude just makes me uncomfortable.
However, one year ago, I was resolute. I intended to waste less time on Facebook, and have been somewhat successful. I also had a sense of reconnecting with an earlier self, which I’ve done in other ways throughout the year.
Today, I’m trying to clean a somewhat smudgy slate. In addition to holiday indulgence, and a shameful lack of exercise, I’ve dealt with the erratic undercurrent of my personal anxieties. It’s possible that the aforementioned behavior contributed to the latter. It’s also possible that my almost-three-year-old is in a “mummy’s-girl” phase, and would prefer for me to play the fire engine or mama cat in her ongoing sagas, rather than squeeze in 20 minutes of yoga.
Work, I’m happy to say, is still going quite well. Better, I’ve settled some things in the creative department that allow me to at least feel like I sometimes write for myself.
I did not manage a 5K.
I eat too much sugar.
I look at screens more than I ought.
I have a punch card for a yoga class.
I learned to bake a pie from scratch.
I kept up with my paper magazines.
I didn’t dance enough with my child.
I fell victim to vodka’s siren call.
I celebrated the Winter Solstice beautifully.
I taught my daughter the names of several vegetables.
Significantly, I reached the age my mother was when she gave birth to me.
Four year olds.
It’s a balance, and an ongoing evolution into ourselves. I try not to keep score against myself, and instead see this whole ordeal as a movement toward a mindset that suits me, and puts good out into the world.
From a headspace that is half nestled in blue winter, and half running through the French Quarter, I greet 2015. No resolutions, but resolute to move forward.