by Danielle Sherman-Lazar
Note: This post originally appeared on Living A Full Life After ED and has been cross-posted with permission.
New Year, new start, new resolutions and all I keep hearing are noises reminiscent of an adult in a Peanuts comic strip “wah, wah, wah.”
The lady sitting next to me on the subway with blonde tresses and a raspy voice proudly says, “I am going to lose X lbs.” Translation: wah wah wah. Just stop.
A man in my apartment complex asserts, “I am going to quit eating sugar.” Translation: wah wah wah whatever!
A hung-over mama in my spin class says, “I am going to drink less” in-between wheezes as she chugs along on the bike and according to her on way less Vodka on the Rocks. Translation: wah wah wah. How boring.
Or more precisely STFU! Just stop, stop, stop. Please stop. Setting these goals that will never happen! Never. Ever. Happen.
I am like the revenge-seeking Grinch that stole New Year’s resolutions. I come with my big brown bag tossing people’s New Year’s dreams out the window, and then retreating back to the outskirts of Whoville. Like come on, why do I need a New Year to tell me to be a better person? Plus, I feel like most New Year’s resolutions are about weight and that makes me very angry on another level. My overall frumpiness feels threatened and my inner ninja fights back hard.
When I think of New Year’s Eve in my early twenties, I picture myself getting all dolled up in a slutty dress with way too much boobage popping out. I’d cover the girls in a cardigan that I would never take off (ironically feeling too slutty…) and high heels that I’d wobble around all night in like an elephant on stilts. Starting the night out walking confidently filled with high expectations, piss and vinegar, and whatever weight goal I set for myself starting tomorrow.
By the end of the night, and only god knows how many drinks, my head would be in the toilet, shoes in hand—barefooting the streets of New York—crying “I want my mommy” like my daughter does. Because dammit, when I don’t feel well I want my mommy. Don’t judge.
What makes me so bitter? Well let me fill you in where my deep hate stems from.
I personally don’t believe in New Year’s resolutions because I think you should better yourself every day. I know a very Brady Bunch answer, but it’s true. A part of me doesn’t like them even more because a number provokes it. On January 1st, you are supposed to start whatever your goal is and pursue it hard—weighing it on a figurative scale of your success every day. Like an eating disorder, you are setting yourself up for disaster. This is why I advise you to evolve healthily each and every day of the year.
Every day, try to respect your body, always be true to yourself, don’t waste your time on nonsense, and spend your time with the people who love you the way you are. Most importantly, you will never be everyone’s perfect person, so just be YOU—that unique, vibrant, amazing person I know each of you are. It’s easy to be you everyday, and not fail at it. So just do what comes naturally.
This year, my first New Year’s Eve in my thirties, it will be my hubby and me in bed, watching New Year’s Rockin Eve 2017 or hopefully some Bravo special countdown—I can only hope, this is my plea Andy Cohen! My daughter will be fast asleep in her crib. Again, I can only hope. And it will be absolutely perfect. No expectations except for a kiss from my husband at midnight. And I couldn’t think of a better way to ring in the New Year. Just like every other day.