Resolutions

By

Pepper L. Bauer

"Happy New Year"! I winced as the radio blared out the traditional greeting every time I turned around on January 1st. The subtle implication weighed heavily on me; make resolutions, do things better, get it "right" this year. 1999 is a brand new beginning; make the most of it.

"Just what I need", I grumbled, "Pressure". Cupping my hands around a hot mug of coffee, I looked out at the overcast sky, pregnant with the promise of new snow. I tried to get excited about the predicted precipitation. I love snow, and cross-country skiing, but realistically, I knew that with our busy schedule, my husband and I probably wouldn’t get much skiing done.

"A New Year", I thought as I turned away from the window. "Maybe I should make a few resolutions. Heaven knows there’s lots of room for improvement." I sat down at the kitchen table, my eyes resting on a pile of mail stacked precariously in the middle, looking remarkably like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. I sighed. "Maybe I should resolve to get more organized."

The morning promise of snow was fulfilled: in spades. Record breaking snow and low temperatures settled over the area, disrupting hectic lifestyles and giving everyone more time for contemplation. Sitting in front of the fireplace, cup of hot tea in hand and a warm blanket wrapped around me, I found it hard to be too upset about the disruption.

"Guess we can’t go anywhere", I mused. "Oh well, I’ll try to make the best of it". I snuggled deeper into the fleecy softness. A pleasant lethargy, the kind you can achieve only when you know everything is out of your control, overcame me. Urges to bake, make soup, read, and listen to music while napping in front of a roaring fire, welled up from deep inside me. My parents called and bemoaned how horrible it was that they were stuck in their warm sunroom, watching it snow, while sipping beverages, eating chocolate and watching rented movies on television. "It’s just awful", I agreed with a contented yawn.

Intellectually, I knew this reprieve from normal life wouldn’t last. In fact, very soon we would have to dig ourselves out and deal with the frustrations extreme weather can cause. But, right now, my husband and I could find time to ski, talk, laugh, love, and become reacquainted, with each other and ourselves.

While watching the flakes fall, I started thinking again about New Year’s resolutions. I contemplated the traditional ones made by most people: losing weight, giving up various vices, being a better, (fill in the blank - housekeeper, spouse, employee, parent etc.) being kinder to people…. "Ugh", I groaned. The list is infinite, and for most people, even though noble, the exercise is futile. I read somewhere that the average length the majority of Americans keep their New Year resolutions is two weeks. Then, when they fail, they beat themselves up about it. Sounds like a vicious circle to me.

A commercial on the radio caught my attention. A woman was resolving to eat fried food, take more bubble baths, and gossip more in the New Year. I had to laugh. "Those are resolutions I could keep", I thought.

After some more lazy-day musing, I started to realize that even if the advertisement was a joke, it had a good point. In our frenzied lives, do we really take the time to be good to ourselves? I wouldn’t go as far as to say we should eat more fried food, but maybe in the New Year we should resolve to be true to, to get to know, and even to pamper ourselves.

Most people dictate their lives by their obligations. Tonight is a ballgame, tomorrow is a committee meeting, Wednesday isn’t Wednesday, it’s "Club night". We become so caught-up in our schedules, we become disassociated from who we really are. It’s a disconcerting feeling to see an old picture of yourself doing something fun, and you think, "Who’s that?" Where is the girl that loved to make snow angels, snow ice cream, and ice skate? Where is the boy that played hockey on his frozen backyard, bombed the neighbors with snowballs, and never missed an old science fiction movie on television? They’re inside us somewhere, but suppressed by the suffocating responsibilities of life.

"The best thing about this forced vacation", I mused as I reached over and stirred the fire, "is that it requires people to "stand down". Many people are using the time to do things they never have time for: baking, playing outside with the kids, reading."

Glancing at the clock, I thought it might be time for a dog walk. Bundling up, I hooked the leash to a very excited puppy and with the senior dog trailing behind, we braved the drifts. Standing knee deep in white fluff, I observed my neighbor’s entire family playing snow soccer with their dog. It looked like they were having a great time. "It’s a shame that it takes severe weather to force us to take time for ourselves", I reflected as I watched them laughing and rolling in the snow.

Back inside, I continued my retrospection as I peeled off my winter wear and settled back down with a comfortable sigh before the fire. "Life is so short", I wondered. "When the end of it draws near, what am I going to regret? Will I wish I’d belonged to more committees or gone to more boring meetings? Will I feel remorse over dishes left in the sink or unmade beds? Will I berate myself for not working on one more fundraiser?" Somehow, I doubted it.

In contented comfort, I continued my pondering. "If an organization elects me as an officer, or my house is cluttered when someone stops by, is anyone really going to remember five years from now, let alone after I’m gone?" I remembered something I read a long time ago. With the exception of the memories of close family members, we remember very few people more than ten years after they’ve passed away. Only the famous are remembered for one hundred years; even the very famous will most likely be forgotten in five hundred years. I cringed. "That’s really depressing". Nevertheless, I realized, true.

I pulled on the blanket, stretching it to cover my chilly toes. I remembered my mother telling me after some traumatic teen-age event, that in ten years, I wouldn’t remember the episode, let alone the people involved. I thought she was nuts at the time, but maybe she was right. The things so very important to me back then, are only fuzzy memories now.

What will I lament in my final years? I closed my eyes and decided it will probably be losing my identity in the dizzying schedule of daily living. I’ve always said that I feel like a dust ball on a record album, spinning round and round on the turntable of life. Occasionally, I’m able to slide to the edge and fall off, but eventually static yanks me back, and I’m spinning uncontrollably again.

Stretching and gazing out my sliding door at the swirling whiteness, I suddenly made the decision to try to reclaim my life this year. I’ll make resolutions that help me live, as opposed to just existing.

Grabbing a pen, I scribbled some ideas:

• I resolve to take the time to pray and meditate more this year. The time I have to myself, when I can reflect on my life, is essential to the wellbeing of my emotional as well as spiritual state. Without it, I feel disconnected.
• This year I will make more fires in the fireplace. All my life I wanted my own fireplace. Now that I have one, we never use it more than two or three times a year. We’re always too busy. I don’t believe I have ever roasted a hotdog in my own living room. This year I will.
• I resolve to ski more, when the opportunity presents itself. Granted, it doesn’t usually snow enough to cross country ski around here, but when it does, I will be out there. I usually look out the window and wish I were outside, but then remember ten things I should do, turn around and go back to work. This year I will ski. If something is done later instead of sooner, so be it.
• I resolve to get rid of some of my obligations. If I’m on a committee that isn’t really accomplishing anything except having boring meetings, I’ll find the backbone to resign. If in retrospection, I realize I’m not passionate about the work or goals of an organization I’m in, I’ll quit. Life is too short to waste time doing mind-numbing activities just because I feel obligated. I need to free up time for the things that enrich life. As painful as it may be, I’ll learn to say no.
• This year I will find time to read and write more. I’ll play my banjo and work with clay. I’ll light more candles and have romantic dinners for no particular reason.
• I’ll try to be more spontaneous. When we were first married my husband and I would just take off and go to Normal for a nighttime snack at a favorite deli. Sometimes, at 11:00 at night, we would decide we wanted to go to a mid-night movie. If the mood hit us, during a thunderstorm, we’d drive out into the country where we could get a clear view, and watch the lightening. We never do impulsive things like that anymore, and frankly, I miss it.
• I resolve to attend more concerts and go bowling occasionally.

I put down my pen and scratched my chin. I could write all night, however a warm pot of homemade soup was calling my name. I didn’t need to put all my resolutions in writing anyway. This year, when a pang of regret pokes at me, I’ll use it as a reminder not to lose myself in the everyday hustle and bustle.

As I untangled myself from the warm cocoon of my blanket, I smiled ruefully. "And just maybe, before the "Mail Tower of Bauer" collapses, I’ll even work on that little problem of getting more organized."