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Resolute

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  Phew, that was one heck of a Christmas whirlwind. One minute you’re wrapping presents, the next you’re disassembling the tree and wiping eggnog off the cat.   Any good presents to report this year? Awesome haul for me—everything from fitness facilitators (boxing gloves and head gear) to sloth supporters (two full TV series on […]

December 28, 2011


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Phew, that was one heck of a Christmas whirlwind. One minute you’re wrapping presents, the next you’re disassembling the tree and wiping eggnog off the cat.
 
Any good presents to report this year? Awesome haul for me—everything from fitness facilitators (boxing gloves and head gear) to sloth supporters (two full TV series on DVD and a giant book about beer). Also: this. Because it is awesome.
  
And so we segue into New Year’s, wherein we take a few moments to assess our life and set goals for being better people (or, at the very least, thinner people) before saying, “Screw it all,” slamming a glass of bubbly and slurring our way through a Scottish poem nobody seems to understand.
 
Then everybody wakes up, adds “never drink again” to the list of resolutions, and promptly forgets all other plans for betterment.
 
…no?
 
It’s funny, I think, that I find the actual New Year’s celebration so touching—the celebrating and the remembering, capped by a countdown that makes you feel like you’re chanting in unison with the whole world (or at least everybody in the eastern time zone). Thanks to the Harribles and their New Year’s anniversary, we finally stumbled into an appropriate and safe personal tradition: a cabin at Linger Lodge, where we can roast hot dogs around a campfire, stargaze and think about the bigger things—but still run inside to see what’s happening in Times Square.
 
But for all that fun, I don’t believe I’ve ever had a resolution stay in my head much past the point that I typed it up. I think, to a point, it’s a bit like a Christmas list: You reach a certain point in your adult life where, when you want something, you…just go get it. So when you come upon an official time for action, you’re scrambling for ideas. I mean, I managed to pad my Christmas list pretty well, but there’s that point in early December where my scant Amazon wishlist convinces me that regular trips to Target have already satisfied all my earthly needs.
 
Same for New Year’s resolutions. I mean, I’m all about self-improvement, but when the doctor told me in March I needed to lower my cholesterol, I went ahead and cut out the cheese sticks. Good to have the reminder, I guess, but New Year’s for me is just, like, a resolution booster shot.
 
I guess it’s the New Year’s self-reflection that matters more than the resolutions it may (or may not) produce—the chance to look at ourselves to see what’s working and what ain’t. A little “me” time before the mass countdown and the kiss and the “Auld Lang Syne” singalong. A peak in the mirror, and maybe I’ll discover something I didn’t see the last time I looked.
 
But I don’t know that “resolved” or “resolute” are words anyone would use to describe me. Maybe that’s something I should work on. Remind me Sunday morning.