I’m not actually a huge fan of New Year’s resolutions. It seems like I’d be setting myself up for failure by picking something so grand and sweeping I’d chicken out and decide to forget about the whole thing. My New Year’s resolution every year is not to have a resolution; having one feels oddly limiting, like I’m taking all the potential that the next 365 days have and tunnel-vision focusing on one or two aspects of it.
I do better with bite-size goals: calling someone instead of texting (I feel kind of bad that the one person I’m the worst about that with is the one with whom texting is so entrenched as our method of communication that it’ll take several Christmas miracles to oust it and the prayers of minor saints); actually asking for help in a store instead of just standing around looking frustrated, hoping all the while that an employee notices. It seems like most people do better with these sorts of goals. Maybe it’s just human nature to go for the gusto and decide to look a hundred pounds or suddenly start eating better or run a 5k. (Mad respect if you’ve halfway managed any of those—or even sort of started and gave up. For any sweeping goal. Mad respect).
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