“New year, new you” has such a nice ring to it, and certainly makes a great theme for the inaugural issue of our magazine for 2024.
I think a lot of us would agree that the end of the holiday season leaves us feeling in desperate need of some renewal in more ways than one. Many of us are recovering from weeks upon weeks of a few too many activities packed into already busy schedules, and maybe a few too many seasonal goody indulgences (for me, it’s the Little Debbie Christmas Tree Cakes). Our houses may feel and look a little glum after the halls have been un-decked, and as winter has officially settled in, the cold temperatures and dark-by-5:30-p.m. days certainly don’t help to lift our spirits.
And so, we counter the post-holiday blues with hopeful plans for ways to make this new year the best one yet, and we find ourselves improved from the year before. With the best of intentions, lots of us have resolved to go into 2024 full-force with the loftiest of goals: upholding extreme fitness or weight-loss regimens, decluttering and deep-cleaning every square inch of our homes, drinking 10 gallons of water a day, reading more, scrolling less, being more intentional and less spread-too-thin with our time … the lists go on and on.
Over the years, I’ve learned through trial and error that I’m not a great New Year’s resolution maintainer. I’ve accepted this as fact, and rather than making myself a promise that I know will be an afterthought by springtime, I’ve sort of compromised and begun to treat my annual self-betterment plan more like a collection of gentle personal suggestions rather than an intimidating, ironclad list of vows. My Jan. 1 inner monologue usually goes a little something like this:
“OK, Claire. Maybe instead of signing up for a half marathon that is a mere eight weeks away, you could start by showing your face in the gym you pay to be a member of at least once in January. It’s been a little while since they’ve seen you. Like, more than eight weeks. You don’t even have to sprint on the treadmill. A light jog would be fine. Or even a brisk walk. There are televisions, central air conditioning, and a defibrillator. You can even watch Food Network while you run-jog-walk. You’ve got this. Don’t forget your inhaler.”
“Moving on. I know you are entertaining going vegan or starting to track your macros (whatever that means), but a great baby step might be throwing away your kids’ discarded Halloween candy. What candy? Oh, you know good and well, the candy that’s hiding in that bag behind your dresser … Not to mention, you have pork roast and cornbread slathered in butter in the oven, and black-eyed peas with bacon and collard greens simmering in ham hock-seasoned water on the stove. If you’re really serious about this, which I know you aren’t, you might want to ask your lucky and prosperous vegan friends for some alternate recipes.”
“And the water drinking thing? I know you have one of those glorified portable water tanks with the quite daunting 500-milliliter, 2-hour increment hash marks emblazoned on the side in your Amazon cart and have been training for all that water-drinking by practicing crossing your legs and jiggling your foot, but before you go to the 3,500-mL-in-14-hours extreme that that particular jug suggests, could you try replacing your third cup of coffee with a nice glass of H2O, for a grand total of 8 ounces (that’s 236.59 mL) of water in your 24-hour day?”
“Now, next on this list of yours, you don’t have to tackle the entire house in January, but perhaps you could at least purge the eight bins of newborn to toddler baby clothing that are collecting dust in your daughter’s closet? She is already 10 years old, after all. ‘What if she wants to save them for her daughter?’, you ask? Like I said, she is only 10 years old, after all. Fine, you can keep the white eyelet dress she wore for her brother’s baptism. And the mouse costume she wore for her first Halloween. OK, OK, and the daisy blouse and little denim shorts she wore for her first trip to the library, and the tiny sneakers she wore on her third trip to the park, and the OshKosh overalls she wore to the grocery store that one day, and the applesauce-stained T-shirt and Walmart gym shorts she wore on that one nothing-really-special day … OK, you know what? Let’s file purging the closet bins in the gentle personal suggestion box for 2025. It’s always good to have something to work toward. Yes, Claire, you’re right. New Year’s resolutions are hard. You’re welcome, Claire.”
It’s not lost on me that 2024 is the last year in my current decade. These almost 39 years have taught me that while it’s great to greet it with enthusiasm and aspirations, it’s also OK to ease into the new year and give yourself some grace if you fall short of your “gentle personal suggestions.” That’s my approach to “new year, new me.”
“New year, new-ish” me, if you will.
Maybe in 2025 I’ll be a well-hydrated, 40-year-old vegan with a half-marathon medal hanging in the newly purged, perfectly organized closet of my spotless home. Maybe not. But one thing is for sure: no matter how many gentle personal suggestions I conquer, there will still be a rumpled grocery bag containing a handful of leftover-from-Halloween 2024 mini Twix and Snickers stashed behind my dresser. And that’s an ironclad vow.