2024 Resolution?
Eat. More. Pie.
Ah, the new year is upon us, and with it, a hearty load of promises that won’t be kept and fitness apps that will gain $23.99 annually.
I do love the new year. I love the clean slate-ness. In my mind, I see a giant eraser wiping away the missteps of the previous 12 months: My semi-successful composting promise, my ‘weight lift everyday’ failure, my overarching, super vague ‘be nicer’ edict that met with some success, but sputtered woefully at the end when I took a retail job. Nothing will test your limits more than selling sweaters to the general population.
Here I sit on January 2nd and ponder what I plan to do with my one wild and precious life. I adore Mary Oliver, but this version of her quote tends to either stress me out or send me spiraling into reflection that ends with self-loathing. No self-reflection ever ends well. How can it? If you can’t look back five to ten years and remember doing something so cringe-worthy that it makes you groan out loud with disgust, then you haven’t lived.
Your worst moments are like that. The good news is you can now reflect with some wisdom; the bad news is these events will haunt you until you die. I plan on laying on my death bed replaying the time in 3rd grade when I cruelly told Michelle Eldridge that she wasn’t cool enough to be in my roller-skating club. I can still…
