My New Year’s resolution is not to write about New Year’s resolutions. It’s a habit I’m trying to break. In the past I’ve attempted to explain why I think it’s a stupid tradition, and ended up coming across as a person who was unable to commit to anything more difficult than making a daily to-do list.
The truth is I’m too much of a chicken to make plans for improving my life. Announcing them to friends and family would bad enough, but to myself? How could I live with the shame of failure?
Does vowing to eat more healthily mean no more pizza or pop tarts for breakfast?
Does getting more exercise mean I have to keep up with my almost 91 year old mother?
Does drink less box wine mean I will have to spend more than $5.00 on a bottle of wine?
As Mom will attest, I don’t like to be told what to do, least of all by myself. I expect too much out of me as it is.
With that said, I’m stretching my legs as I head to the kitchen. As I pop a Hersey’s Kiss into my mouth and add some ice to my wine glass, I’ll cross off “write a blog” on my to-do list.
Namaste- resolutions are so passé.