It’s been hip lately to say “I don’t do New Year’s resolutions. I’m cool with the way I am.”
I was going to do the same thing. I was on Twitter ready to Tweet “My 2016 resolution: Breathe.”
The next thing I knew, this happened:
Then I just went crazy:
I might as well, right?
Then I just hit where it hurts:
Number 10 really should have been number 1:
Saving the best for last:
With each outlandish resolution, the universe expanded further to accommodate my wild fantasies of all I could do and be. I looked into the expanse of time and saw my future me waving back with white hair whipping in the wind created by the vortex of accomplishments.
How well-read my future me is, how wordy, how hydrated!
Making big resolutions was way more fun than just promising myself to aspirate.
New Year’s Resolutions would be painful for someone with a literal brain, but that is so not me. I’m comfortable believing in faeries, witches, and a version of myself with enormous biceps and forty-nine hours in my day. It’s fun for me to think about.
I’ll tell you something else: I’ve made truly outlandish New Year’s resolutions in the past that have come true. It wasn’t that long ago that owning a house, having my current job, and getting my books and stories written and published were just as fantastical as getting my proper sleep.
So for New Year’s resolutions, I say go big. Unless it isn’t fun, in that case, breathe.
What was 2015 the year of? List all of the accomplishments, special meals, awesome songs, tragic events, euphoric moments, recurring dreams, inside jokes, surprises and challenges that you can remember in ten minutes.
List eleven (because ten is clearly not enough) New Year’s resolutions you would make if you were the type of person who made New Year’s resolutions, and as if time, money, and the limitations of the time/space continuum were not a factor at all in your reality.
What have you accomplished in your life that at one time in your past you thought would be difficult, if not impossible? Think back to that moment when that thing seemed crazy unlikely or so far away that you could barely see it. That’s a cool thing you did, making that happen. I hope you see it that way.
This is the size of the cup I drink from as we embark on this journey together. It holds twenty ounces of coffee. We could all probably fit in it like a boat and row across January. I got it at the Dollar Tree for a dollar.