Hi, it’s me. The human who says she is going to write and then doesn’t because being a writer is having homework all the time. Homework – something I once loved, but now will find any reason to avoid. Just ask my clean baseboards or sparkling oven. However, as an owner of a “blog”, I am legally required to write about the New Year lest I want to be banned from the internet forever.
That’s what I wrote on the 1st of January. After 74 days, it is now the 1st of February. I was going to write about how I’m not one for New Year’s Resolutions, and it turns out I am also not one for writing about New Year’s Resolutions. I am, however, apparently one for irresponsibly (but void of any regret) buying a ticket to Europe, a pair of boots, and seven books I will read after I finish the other five I bought last month. I also bought new car tires, but out of necessity and not impulse.
Here’s the thing, I am not a blogger, nor am I trying to be. I do not have an aesthetically pleasing lifestyle, I can’t craft anything above a 4th-grade level, and my fashion taste involves a Putin shirt and one too many hats. I just like to write, and sometimes that involves stupid things that have no outlet other than this corner of the internet I pay a monthly fee to keep. But, in an effort to force me to write, I’m paying for another corner of the internet to make something weird and wonderful. My weird and equally wonderful soulmate Caprice will be joining me and we will happily promote it when the time is right.
Anyway, back to a cliché post on 2018.
Whenever I think about New Year’s Resolutions, I see a long list of menial tasks I want to accomplish. Read X books. Go to X places. Finally do X. Stop doing X. A step-by-step visualization on how to be my Best Self™. And after 27 years of imagining version after version of my Best Self, I’ve learned I have no idea who that is. I just know she’s closer than she was before. So this year, I have no list. I have nothing to check off. Instead, I am letting myself feel, learn, and be uncomfortable.
To be soft and warm, even when that means being okay with uncertainty.
To be vulnerable, even when that means getting hurt.
To relinquish some control, even when that means having a long talk with my anxiety.
To admit I will not have leftover pizza because I will eat it all in one sitting.
Happy 2018, January was just a trial month.