Anti-Resolutions

I struck a nerve when I wrote my short and ever expanding list of things I refuse to apologize for. Apparently I’m not the only one sick of pretending that I’m actually going to change just because the calendar rolled over to a new year. My friends peppered me with tons of activities they refuse to give up in the name of appearances. And I agree wholeheartedly that there is nothing wrong with putting on your pajama pants as soon as the sun sets—even if it’s 4:30. I also applaud screening phone calls and using Facebook as your link to the extended family. I think ponytails work in any situation and I will never own a ball gown so I have no reason to own a pair of Spanx.


In honor of my new honesty, I am putting an official ban on resolutions this year because I refuse to feel bad when I don’t lose 10 pounds in two months or fail get a book published this year--again. I already feel bad about my crows feet and the creepy looking veins that have recently appeared on my legs so I see no reason to feel bad about stuff that I think, for one insane moment on January 1st, that I can change.

This year I’m refusing to make any goals whatsoever. No more feeling bad about the unused stack of flash cards my daughter’s teacher sent home with her. No more pretending that I’m going to be any better about enforcing bedtimes or organizing my closets. I’m flying into the new year with a new attitude and not a single idea what I want to do with my life. The possibilities are endless! Okay, so chances are pretty high that my lack of planning is going to result in well, nothing. But at least I won’t be disappointed.