“We spend January 1st walking through our lives, room by room, drawing up a list of work to be done, cracks to be patched. Maybe this year, to balance the list, we ought to walk through the rooms of our lives… not looking for flaws, but for potential.”
I’ve never been the sort of person to set, let alone stick to, New Year’s resolutions. For fear of sounding lazy or like I'm procrastinating, after the buzz and hubbub of December, I tend to feel a little bit too tired to start putting all that pressure on myself come January.
I see the arrival of the New Year as an opportunity to hide away and hibernate instead; to reflect on the year just past, and to rest and recuperate. The lack of light and abundance of grey days and gloomy weather never strikes me with inspiration to make myself fitter, healthier, richer, better; the fading memories of fairy lights and the festive season leave me feeling lethargic and listless, not motivated or active or in the mood for self-improvement and reinvention. As the year comes to an end, I always try and see it out with fireworks, lighting up the sky in one great big celebratory crescendo, then fizzling and fading into the dark. And then, when all's said and done, instead of starting all over again straight away, I mostly just want to sleep. And if the world around me – save for maybe some snowdrops – is sleeping, then I won't hesitate to do so too.
Hurrying headlong into the New Year with my lofty goals is a sure-fire way to set myself up for a fall, and that fall will inevitably see all my good intentions and great plans scuppered for yet another year. Quite frankly, how am I meant to run ten miles when I’ve been inhaling mince pies for breakfast, lunch and dinner for the last six weeks?
Instead, wouldn’t it be much more reasonable to save that overzealous, overwhelming ambition for a less stressful, less stark time of year like spring? It is, after all, the time for new beginnings and as the world comes back to life, it makes perfect sense that this might be a better time to bring in new habits.
And if not spring: September, perhaps? The traditional start of the school year, when we pack away our summer clothes, buy new stationery and start over as the leaves begin to turn. Even now, ten years since I left school, I can’t resist new notebooks and their bright white blank pages – no mistakes made, and a promise that this will be my year.
So, this year, I'm going to let my head stay as foggy as those January skies and I'm resolving not to make any resolutions. At least, not yet and not until I've had a nice long nap.
