New Years resolutions are so alluring -- the idea of having an entire year, untouched and unsullied, on which to write a prescription for a whole new me is absolutely irresistable. Each year, I resolve to work out more, to eat less pizza and more salads, to be more patient with my kids (including my adult child, my husband), to devote myself to dazzling marketing efforts at work and stunning do-it-yourself projects at home, to conquer clutter and have a sparkling kitchen. I am usually able to keep up with all of my resolutions until Martin Luther King, Jr. Day rolls around. Something about a three day weekend makes the resolutions start to slide, slowly at first and then faster and faster, like a January snowball hurtling down the calendar cliff. One by one the resolutions drop off, until I am back to my old self again by Valentines Day. Well, not quite my old self. A much guiltier version of my old self, feeling horrible because, once again, I am too weak-willed to live up to the shining resolutions that I swore would make this year different from all the rest.
This year, I am asking myself -- what's so wrong with my old self? Since I know I'll be back to my "good old days" by February 14 anyway, why put myself through the guilt of making resolutions just to break them? My resolution this year is to not beat myself up so much for my all-too-human failings. After all, it is our flaws and our foibles that define us, just as much (if not more) than our triumphs and talents. So, instead of fleeing in panic from a gigantic snowball of broken resolutions, I'm going to go outside and throw some snowballs, guilt-free.

I still need to work on the exercise, eating healthy, being patient, and all that other stuff. I will, in my own time. I'm resolved this year, though, to kick out the guilt and stop kicking myself if I cannot meet a calendar deadline. The resolutions will come when I am ready to live up to them, not when the calendar tells me to do it.
So, who wants to join me for some pizza and snowballs?


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