The Third Resolution--A New Year's Ritual

In 2004, with the New Year beginning, I sat down to contemplate possible resolutions. Every year I came up with at least one way to improve myself--eat more fruits and vegetables, exercise more, watch less TV, eat less chocolate. There wasn't anything wrong with these resolutions, but I had never been able to keep them. What was going to make 2004 any different?

 "I just won't make a resolution this year," I thought. "I'll make this year different by entering it without any resolutions to break." Already my heart felt lighter.

But not for long. Mere minutes passed before the voices of my ancestors arose in protest.

"Go into the New Year with no way to make yourself better, happier, smarter, healthier?" An imaginary picture of one of my great aunts, hands on hips, stared down on me, her brow creased.

The ancestors gathered, crowded round, frowning. I thought I saw an uncle poke his head around the pack and wink, but I couldn't be sure. I was caving into the pressure.

"All right!" I said, "I'll make a resolution." I slumped into my chair. I threw up my hands. My aunts, sensing that my resolve had weakened, edged closer.

They say that creativity is enhanced by having a clear goal and a little pressure--usually a time limit, but I suppose being surrounded by a band of ghost aunts who have your best interests in mind also works.

"I know," I said, flexing my fingers, ready to commit this resolution to writing. "I resolve to..." The keyboard clacked as I typed out the words. "I resolve to finish writing my book." I had started writing a novel three years earlier, but romance intervened and I dropped the book for a man. The man had walked out of my life a few months earlier, but the manuscript was still patiently waiting for my return.

My heart was filled with joy at the prospect of finishing my writing project. Instead of resolving not to do something that I like to do, I would resolve to do something that I really wanted to do but, for one reason or another, never managed to accomplish.

"This is great," I said.

 My aunts, perhaps not entirely satisfied with a resolution that wasn't an improvement project, nonetheless receded.

"That's not all," I said, my enthusiasm for this new kind of New Year's resolution growing. "I'm going to Europe this year too."

I had been wanting to go back to Europe for over a decade, but my sensible self--the same one who foolishly resolved to eat less chocolate--always won the battle of the budget and the war against time.

I typed my list of New Year's resolutions:

1. Finish my book

2. Go to Europe

I hit the print button on my computer. Sitting back, smiling, I watched the page print. The whir of the computer disguised the sound of my ancestors scuttling back onto the battlefield of my conscience. They shrouded my joy with somber faces and whispered admonitions.

"You should add at least one resolution that helps you improve yourself."

"Most people," I retorted, "only make one resolution. I have two."

"Two isn't a good number for resolutions," another voice said. "Two is lopsided."

"How can an even number be lopsided?" I wondered, but wisely kept my words to myself.

"Three resolutions is better." The voice was low and gravely and made me shiver.

"Okay," I said and put up my hand to stop the attack. "I also resolve to get my Project Management Professional certification. How's that?"

As one, the ancestors nodded and faded into the recesses of my mind.

My fingers stumbled over the keyboard, typing and retyping the third resolution. The printer spit my new list into the tray. I picked it up with two fingers, no longer smiling. I shrugged. "Never mind," I told myself. "The list, at least, is no longer lopsided." I tacked the paper onto a corkboard within easy view of my workstation.

In March my father announced that he was going to Ireland to attend a conference where my brother would present an academic paper. In order to make the most of the journey and in the interests of science (my brother has a PhD in horticulture), they were going to golf as many of the excellent courses to be found on the Emerald Isle as time permitted.

"Is Mom going?" I said. "If Mom is going, I'll go too."

Mom wasn't going, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Not because I wouldn't have liked to make the trip with her, but because I already had tickets to go to Europe in August--five countries in 17 days.

The next day my dad called back. "Your mother decided to go," he said.

"But I can't go," I said, "I already have a trip planned."

We hung up.

The ancestors loomed.

I called back. "I'll go," I said. I had no idea how I was going to find either time or money to go on two trips to Europe. I cast a frown into the dark recesses of my mind, where the ancestors lurked. "You figure it out," I said, a little snottily.

                                                           Epilogue

In 2004, I made two trips to Europe. The trip to Ireland, accompanied by my mother and oldest niece, ranks among the best experiences of my life. The five-country whirlwind trip jostles for a top spot as well.

I finished my book, which was published in August of that year.

As for the Project Management Professional (PMP) certification, I never quite got around to that one. With the exception of the PMP fiasco, I have kept every resolution I have made since 2004.

Travel has replaced chocolate, and I strive to have more of it in my life instead of less. I have made excursions to Mexico, England, Scotland, and Antarctica in the intervening years. I have two books published, and just completed research on a third as a part of an Artists and Writers Program sponsored by the National Science Foundation.

I mention these joyful moments because they demonstrate the power of ritual, when we focus our energy on making our lives happier and on fulfilling our purpose.