What a procrastinator! New Year’s Day has come and gone, and I’m still mulling over resolutions I should have made but didn’t, and by now, probably won’t.
The likely suspects all sound so painfully familiar … and unachievable. I’ll try, but …
Lose weight? Love to, but with an aging metabolism this slow, I’d have to live on water, radishes and hunger pangs.
Go to the gym? Exercise more? Explain that to my chronically tweaked ankle and shoulder.
Never miss a local story.
Eat healthier? But I don’t like kale and Brussels sprouts.
Live within my means? What means?
Less stress? With two patients to care for, both of them men, I’m supposed to reduce my stress level? Riiiiiggggght. If I could figure out how to have less pressure and fewer responsibilities, I’d patent the concept and make a fortune. Then living within my means should be a snap, thereby reducing stress even more.
So, I took a new year’s 180: I won’t list things I’ve resolved to do this year. Instead, I’ll itemize some things I’m not going to do.
For starters, I’ll try to not run over little old ladies, or anybody, for that matter. I won’t rob a bank or shoot anything that lives and breathes. I won’t smoke tobacco or drink alcohol (easy, because I don’t do either already).
I won’t skydive, climb an Alp, build a car, hike the Appalachian Trail or have a Top 10 hit song.
I won’t ignore mystery meat in the back of my refrigerator until it qualifies for artifact status (yeah, sure).
I won’t lean on my horn, no matter how frustrated I get with the chap in front of me who’s plodding along at 20 mph in a 55 mph zone. The honking would only annoy others and give me a migraine, while the clueless slowpoke probably would think the horn blasts were aimed at someone else.
I also won’t:
▪ Pig out on kimchi. Ewww.
▪ Win a 10K, or even enter one.
▪ Win the lottery, which is easy because I won’t enter that, either.
▪ Play Bach in Rockefeller Center.
▪ Ice skate in Rockefeller Plaza, although I did so as a youngster.
▪ Dye my hair. It has always been whatever color it was naturally at the time (dark brunette and silver, so far).
▪ Ride in a rodeo. I did that, too, once upon a time (not riding broncs or bulls, but trying my hands — and rear — at barrel racing. It was not a success.).
▪ And I absolutely won’t take a job as a chicken inspector, mortician, coal miner, pet-food taster, lumberjack, road-kill collector, carnival barker or White House spokesperson. Especially not White House spokesperson. Nope. No, sir. Not me.
I do have a kindly try-to-do list for 2018. Lovely entertainer Julie Beaver posted this musical mantra recently on Facebook, and it struck me as a good place to start. She wrote, “Like the song says, ‘If you can’t be with the one you love, love the one(s) you’re with!’” No matter who is missing or who you’re missing, “get out there and love the people that are still in your life.”
I’ll dance to that. Actually, more dancing sounds like fun for the new year.
▪ I’ll smile a lot and mean it.
▪ I’ll always try to be nice, kind and polite. I will say “thank you,” and “please” and “don’t you look nice today?”
▪ I’ll say “I love you” often, and hug those who want and need hugs.
▪ I will step away from cyber devices that so often enslave us, especially the beeping-tweeting-freaking cellphone!
I can do all that.
I’ll also take more time to absorb the splendor of our surroundings.
As the “Advice from a Tree” card at Cambria Drug & Gift advises, “Enjoy the beauty around you … Stay grounded … Soak in the sunshine … Learn to sway with the wind … Stand tall and be proud.”
I’ll try. Really I will, even if that last bit of advice is tricky for someone who has to stretch to reach 5 feet, 1 inch in height.
But being a realist, I may have to settle for fulfilling just one new year’s resolution, an echo of someone else’s tweet: Somehow, I WILL remember to write 2018 instead of 2017.