Skip to main content

Resolution

Strange Planet comic about debasing oneself in December to maximize contrast with post-resolution self in January
In an attempt to end the year on a good note, I opted to do both a December daily run streak and Dry December. This is backwards. I should not be doing the healthy things right before resolution time, because then how will I become The New Me in the new year? On the other hand, I have a pretty lofty walk/run mileage goal for 2021, so I can’t really let up just because the calendar changes. And I don’t really enjoy drinking alone, except maybe a porch beer on a warm evening, and since socializing and warm evenings aren’t happening any time soon, it’ll probably be a mostly Dry January anyway.

My resolution for 2020 was to eliminate negative self talk. That’s virtually impossible to track or quantify, so I have no idea if I succeeded. Let’s say yes. The fact that I remember my resolution 364 days later is a feat, really. Other than the aforementioned mileage goal, I don’t really have a resolution for 2021. However, I’ll be turning 40 next year, and I have some Feelings about that. 

Screenshot of a tweet by Jim Belushi: "Unbelievably, I still feel like someday I'll be able to dunk. Same as when I was a kid."

Okay, so that’s some relatable content(?) from Jim Belushi(?!) Turning 40 is sort of meaningless. I’ve been thinking of my age as 40ish for a couple of years now and I’ll just keep doing that for the next 5-7. But biology is real, and our bodies and brains aren’t meant to last forever. I know 40 isn’t OLD, but by this age everything is on the decline. If you want to get faster or stronger or smarter in middle age, it takes more effort for less reward than it used to. You don’t get a letter in the mail telling you that this is happening. It’s more like, eventually you stop noticing that you woke up feeling stiff this morning, because you’ve woken up feeling stiff every morning for the past 12 years and now it’s just existence.

WRT to Jim Belushi’s Tweet: I never learned how to do a cartwheel as a kid. I tried, but I never even got close. I think in the back of my mind I always just assumed that one day I would succeed at it. That thought went dormant at some point but never disappeared, even long after I stopped trying to do cartwheels or thinking about them, and after the likelihood of my doing any gymnastics without injury diminished due to my literally never doing anything even remotely gymnastics-related at all. Jim Belushi is never going to dunk, and it is increasingly unlikely that I am ever going to do a cartwheel.

I guess the point is that over the years I have thought that maybe I would one day run a Boston qualifier or or get abs or become fluent in a foreign language and these things aren’t technically impossible yet, but time is not on my side.

Ages ending in zero aren’t really any more meaningful than the calendar flipping to January 1. So you can ignore them, or you can ascribe meaning to them because maybe that’s the motivation you need to set a goal and make a plan, because otherwise everything is just like learning how to do a cartwheel, or not.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

I do not dream of labor

There’s a quote that goes something like, “I don’t have a dream job. I do not dream of labor.” I can’t find the original source, but I’d love to know. In any case, I appreciate the sentiment even though in some ways I have had a few “dream jobs,” including my current one. It was an educational journey to get there, though. There was this short-lived TV show called Quarterlife that was on when I was the correct age for it. It might have been a MySpace TV series. Was that a thing? Am I making this up? Anyway, it was bad, but I was feeling my own quarterlife crisis pretty hard and I watched the first episode with interest. Our hero was an early-20s woman working in some low-level position at a women’s magazine, and that’s where it lost me. I would have KILLED for a shitty entry-level job at a magazine. I was working a clerical job at a disability insurance company and in hindsight, it was *fine*, as jobs go. But I had a big ol’ chip on my shoulder about how I, with my equestrian science d...

It’s the right thing to do and it sucks.

When I was a kid, we went to my uncle’s house for Thanksgiving every year, which was pretty cool because he was the caretaker of a 4H camp. It was deserted in November, so we had free run of the place. We’d explore the stables, skip stones on the pond, try to get into the cabins (usually locked) and the mess hall (inexplicably not locked). We learned how to drive by being turned loose with the minivan on the one long road through the property. And we ate pie. Real Norman Rockwell stuff. I say all this to illustrate that I understand why a lot of Americans have warm fuzzies about Thanksgiving and tradition. I do, too. But it is just a day. There isn’t any law of nature that makes turkey and pie and family unavailable to you on days other than the third Thursday in November. If there were no end in sight for the pandemic, I’d understand why so many otherwise conscientious people are doing Thanksgiving travel and in-person gatherings. But there are vaccines on the horizon. Yes, it’s goi...

Welcome to my Xanga

I finally decided to create a second Instagram (and by extension, this old school blog). Because: My other account is sort of professional but I am a social media oversharer at heart which means it sometimes becomes personal or just kind of weird. And I think that’s fine to a point but I do want to be connected to people in my industry without necessarily foisting my every thought or feeling into their feeds. I just got a new phone with a much better camera which means I’ll probably be talking a lot of goofy photos—portrait mode photos of my dog’s snoot, for example—and maybe I don’t need those to be on what is a de facto portfolio for my side hustle. Look, friends. We’re headed into a long, dark, and isolated winter. I live alone, the pandemic rages on, and my therapist is on maternity leave until spring. I think I might want an outlet for my thoughts. Thus the name of this account: this is my roaring 20s version of a c. 2002 personal blog, but with a character limit. S...