It’s that time of year, folks, the holidays are over. We spent too much, ate too much, and drank too much. The season of toomuchness has gutted us and is gone. Time now to buckle down and stop having so much fun. Resolutions, anyone?
I’ll tell you from the get-go, I don’t do resolutions. Don’t do them because I can’t keep them. The word itself puts me off. Resolve. It has that written-in-stone kind of ring to it, no leeway, no wiggle room. And if you happen to slip-slide — full disclosure, I’m a slip-slider — you’ve botched it. Who wants to be a slip-slider and a botcher? Not I, thank you very much.
So I’m cutting myself some slack again, and instead of resolving, I’m intending — a more user-friendly, easygoing word, don’t you think?
I am going to create an intention, as they say in yoga practice. I’m going to get that good karma going and find peace in my heart. I’m going to aspire to, and let my intention guide me without fear of failing. My downward dog looks more like dog down? No biggie. Those yogis of yore had the right idea, sitting on a mountain, ohming the day away. I’m into that.
No worries about being judged either. Who needs that gavel coming down when you fall by the wayside, an image of Judge Judy playing in your head? Don’t let that lace doily around her neck fool you; the girlfriend is one tough cookie.
“Hmm,” I can hear her say, with that thinly veiled look of disgust. “Weren’t you in my courtroom last year for the same offence? ‘Resolutions unresolved?’ ” (She thinks she’s so cute!)
“Yes, but . . .”
“Answer the question.” BANG, goes the gavel.
“And the year before, and the year before!” Now the disgust is not veiled at all.
“But I . . .”
BANG! BANG! BANG! The woman is heartless. Would it kill her to crack a smile once in a blue moon? She’d look a whole lot better, if you ask me.
I’m winning you over. I can feel it. You too want a more loose-goosey approach to setting goals. But still you want proof. You’re a tough crowd, let me tell you. But I’m dedicated to the cause.
So let’s say, one fine morning, in a state of delirium — this cold weather can wreak havoc on the brain — you tell your one-and-only that you resolve to make dinner that night. Of course you meant it when you said it — one of the hazards of resolving — but as the day moves on you realize that you botched it big-time. (See above for botching reference.) Shop and chop and serve it too? Good Lord, what were you thinking?
There may be a way out, and, lucky you, you’ve come to the right one for advice. Here’s what you do: One-and-only comes home chomping at the bit for the dinner you resolved to make. Finally, a home-cooked meal. (Don’t look at me, you’re the one who put your foot, or rather your resolve, in your mouth.) And the dinner plates are as empty as a Kardashian head. (Yeah right, they’re light-in-the-loft. Meanwhile, they’re walking around in Manolo Blahniks, and you’re in Amagansett buying Bass.)
“I thought you were making dinner tonight,” one-and-only says.
"Well, I intended to,” you say. Big smile. “But I made reservations instead!”
Maybe you’ll get a pass, maybe you won’t, but it’s worth a try.
Who has the time and energy for resolving anyway? You have to stay focused, commit. Bor-ring! I for one have important work to do.
What? You think that checking email 40 times a day — I get mail, therefore I am — isn’t work? Random House may have put in a bid for my new novel. This very minute, Haruki Murakami might be firing off a howdy-do from The New York Times. He wants to review the book. Why not? Hope high, I say.
Do you for one minute think that logging on and staying on Facebook isn’t living by the sweat of my Botoxed brow? Resolving may mean forgoing Facebook. Are you kidding me? Well, I’d have to, if I spent all my get-up-and-go on silly resolutions. My friends! Their selfies! Their videos of their cats dancing, their dogs passing wind on YouTube. What they do with their pets when they think no one is looking. Arrgh! You want me to waive that? I’ll miss their missives on prayer, persistence, and vegan food. Their exhortations to rid my life of toxic relationships. Could Facebook be one of them? Nah.
So there you have it, peeps, my story of rising from the ashes of resolutions. Failures be gone. Switch it up, take the Intend Challenge and see what a winner feels like.
Rita Plush is the author of “Lily Steps Out,” a novel, “Alterations,” a collection of stories, and a forthcoming novel, “Feminine Products.” She lives part time in East Hampton.