Maybe I am just too content or complacent this year, but for whatever reason, I’m kicking New Year’s resolutions to the curb along with the brittle remains of my Christmas tree.
Here’s the deal: Why should I wait until New Year’s Day to make resolutions—grand, sweeping proclamations about what I’m going to do (or not do) in the coming year? I work on myself in small ways every day because I’m playing the long game, which continues long after a New Year’s resolution falls by the wayside, usually around MLK Day or my period, whichever comes first.
I have a great support network. I work with a leadership coach who keeps me accountable or at least aware of my ongoing resolutions: write more, eat cleaner, move my body, be kinder and more compassionate, work smarter, earn more, spend wisely, allow myself to enjoy being in love. These are goals I aspire to on a daily basis.
But I don’t think of them as resolutions, because that’s setting me up to fail. Of course I will break resolutions. Life isn’t absolute. Life gets in the way. Things come up. A lobster mac and cheese crosses my path. It’s too cold to go for a run. I cannot live without owning that vintage Whiting & Davis disco bib necklace. Oh yes, it will be mine.
I have resolved to let “resolutions” go gently into that good night and replace them with kindness toward myself and my sometimes slow but persistent progress.
That’s a resolution I can keep.