I have a love/hate relationship with New Year's Resolutions. It is a topic that has been discussed before, but I have yet to cement my feelings on the subject. I'm always looking for ways to live a more "fulfilled" life, and as one of my bosses recently (only half-jokingly) pointed out, I "crave structure." Or maybe it was "desperately need structure." Either way, his point rings true - because I live such an unstructured daily life - professionally and socially - I enjoy the accountability that comes with New Year's Resolutions. Making an intentional plan, setting attainable, detailed goals, and scheduling specific checkpoints along the way sounds glamorous, almost, especially when you can post about progress on Instagram and Facebook with the hashtag #NewYearNewMe, and click it to see how everyone else is doing on their goals. The knowledge that many others around the world are doing the same thing makes me feel like I'm part of a community of idealistic realists, ready to conquer our demons and accomplish our goals. On the other hand, it sucks. It too often turns self-identifying 'idealistic realists' into sad, jaded, New York Pessimists (NYPs for short, also my proposed mascot for the city's next professional sports team. No, they won't have a cheerleading squad). Too often do people set unrealistic goals, and become disappointed when they don't accomplish them. All too often, people are motivated for a week or a month, but lose motivation and make little or no actual progress or change. I slipped into the world of NYPs this year, on January 7th.
It started on New Year's Eve. I stand on a semi-tangential soapbox when discussing New Year's Eve plans: 90% of New Year's Eve plans, especially in metropolitan areas, are centered around the hype. And they almost always turn to disappointment, because the fairy-tale notion of going to 6 parties in all 6 boroughs (Fun Fact: NYC opens a separate borough on NYE called Richperson Island with an hourly partyferry that runs from 10pm-7am) does not come true. That party you *think* you can get into at EquiToxic, the gym/dance club/art gallery, has an age limit of 21. On either side. Like, to get in, you have to be 21. The dream of meeting the perfect man by the stroke of midnight and kissing a frog/beast/bear/woolly mammoth as the ball drops, turning him into a Ken-doll-but-with-genitalia, and running through a sunlit meadow of lilies and snow at sunrise on New Year's Day never becomes a reality. To combat the inevitable frustration, I decided to stay in.
...actually, who am I kidding? I'm a 20-something, extroverted millennial. I planned to party-hop til noon, armed with my mantra to go with the flow and just let everything play out, expecting nothing. I hadn't slept much the night before, but it would be fine. The night went as follows:
8:08pm: Awesome. Only 8 minutes late to a friend/neighbor's house to get ready for the night. Dressed in someone else's clothes, I'm lookin' fiiiiine.
8:47pm: Later leave-time than expected. It takes a while prepping (re: eating leftover Christmas desserts and talking too much), but we knew that might happen. Fine.
9:53pm: Slow trains, because it's December 31st. It's fine, we know this. We arrive in the East Village a bit later than we had planned, with a few slices of uneaten chocolate cake for the hostess gift - I had been tempted to scarf them down while waiting for the train, but I save the slices. Victory.
10:27pm: Having a blast! Steven, the twin brother, who came up from North Carolina for the festivities, planned to meet me at this location. My loquaciousness and lack of attention to my phone, coupled with his underdeveloped sense of direction (I take blame... I ate most of the nutrients in the womb, sorry bro!) push his arrival a tad later than planned. Fine, we knew that might happen, but so far the night has been spectacular.
10:46pm: This is where it gets tricky. We had planned to leave and hang out with Steven's friends for a bit, so we run the 1.3 miles to a West Village bar where his friend is playing guitar. Steven keeps up. No one vomits from exhaustion. We get there just in time... for his friends to walk out. But it's Fine. We didn't want to pay the $10 cover with a 2 drink, 3 appetizer minimum anyway, we say.
10:53pm-11:16pm: The short, quick walk to another friend's super-cool, swanky, basketball-court-on-the-roof, recording-studio-in-the-basement apartment in SoHo turns into a 9-person parade to a pizza place and down a mistaken road or 4. It's fine, I just need to be in Harlem by midnight.
11:17pm: Oh FIIIINE, I guess I'll participate in the toast to the old year. Oh, it's a game? Count me in! It needs to be short though, I have to be in Harlem by midnight.
11:36pm: Uh oh, look at the time! I won't be able to make it! But we're having fun, I'll just stay here for the ball-drop. Let me text my friend that I'll be late... wait, where's my phone? Oh, there it is.
12:00am: Happy New Year! I love you all! Goodbye, take care! Hmm, I should text that I'm close. I'll run. It'll be fine.
1:00am: No, seriously guys, I have to leave. Friends are waiting, but I love you and this conversation about your dog's cute rain boots is too important to miss!
2:00am: See you soon, I gotta go! Wow, 2am already? Ok, let me just text them and say I'll meet them at the after-party in Hamilton Heights. It's totally fine.
Fast forward to 5:13am, in Times Square, flagging down a sleepy policewoman - I had fallen asleep on the train to the after-party, and awoke 2 hours later without my wallet. I blame my father for the genes of a deep-sleeper.
So, my New Year's Eve plans did not work out as I had wanted, and I had let down some friends who were waiting on me so graciously towards the end of the night. But it was a new year! I could tag all of my Facebook updates with #NewYearNewMe, and start anew! I wrote my Resolutions on poster-paper: Run another marathon, go to the gym every day, weekly voice lessons, learn French, host a dinner party once-a-month, write a musical. I got a new phone on January 2nd. 2016 was gonna be my year! Then I lost a bag on January 3rd. It had toiletries, gloves, and a journal, so it could have been worse, but I couldn't help feeling the slow engulfing of the NYP. On January 5th, I pulled a muscle in my leg, right before audition season. On January 6th, I still hadn't found a room to move into once my sublet was up. I had only been to the gym once, and spent a literal 3.5 minutes on a language-learning app before getting bored. But on January 7th, I read an e-mail from my old yoga studio, offering a significant discount to return, since I hadn't been in 6 months. I ran into a friend who mentioned he had started teaching there, and he invited me to come to his class. It was just the impetus I needed to pay for a month-long, unlimited pass. It was a commitment. A resolution. A Resolution. I vowed to take a yoga class every day for the month. I resolved to enhance my diet to build more muscle, and to practice calming exercises for 5 minutes a day. And I failed.
And I was okay with it. I rarely like to fail (I guess no one likes to fail, right?) and it's a mix of pride and insecurity sprinkled with desire to prove self-worth that angers me when I fail - but this has been different. The term "resolution" has some weight to it, because it is rarely used in colloquial conversation. People use the term at the beginning/end of the year, and we literally capitalize (and capitalize on) the word, giving it more clout than it used to have, more influence than it should have. In truth, we are constantly making resolutions, even if they are not "Resolutions." Take my previous roommate, for example. Bless his heart, he is so awesome, but he always buys too much food. He'll come home with 9 bananas and a gallon of milk, for his breakfast and coffee, and every time, 2 weeks later, I'll pour half a gallon of sour milk down the drain and throw 2 bananas in the garbage (and if you know me, you know how much I hate food waste, haha). He realizes that is what happens, but the following day buys 9 more bananas and another gallon of milk. He is subconsciously, and sometimes even consciously, resolving to eat healthier, and tells himself that this time is different. I respect the embarkment of the resolution, even if it does not come to fruition. So, if we are doing these things anyway, why make such a big deal out of it once a year, on January 1st?
It's arbitrary. The Gregorian Calendar isn't even the easiest calendar to follow, what with leap years and daylight savings. January 1 does not denote the start of a lunar or solar cycle. It is just another cold, wintry day in the Northern Hemisphere. It's a day like any other, except for the collective desire to do better. Which is not innately wrong. But the desire easily warps into negative comparisons, waste (of time, money, energy, stress, worry) and pressure. In our collective conscience, we see January in a specific way. I have starting calling it the "Case of the Januarys", a la Garfield or that woman from Office Space and their feelings about Mondays. We want the idealism of a new year, but are often disappointed by the weather, lack of sun, and overall Pessimist-inducing nature of January. I want less of #NewYearNewMe and more of those posters with an eagle and a mountain, saying "This Is the First Day of the Rest of Your Life." Less Resolutions and more resolving to do better. Less measuring of time and more measuring of experience.
It's February 2nd, and I have yet to host a dinner party. I have taken voice lessons, but not weekly. I go to yoga often, but not every day. I have resolved, today, to prepare better for auditions. Because a Resolution on the first day of the year, or a resolution on any other day of the year, should not be measured in failure or success, it should be measured in effort, persistence, and resistance. Resistance to the temptation to fail, but more importantly, resistance to the desire to call it a Failure. That's why gym memberships spike in January but fall in February and March. We decide we have failed and move on, instead of trying again. I'm headed out to yoga in a minute. I didn't go yesterday, but I plan on going tomorrow, and the next day. And I am excited for the resolutions that I can make, break, and re-mold today, tomorrow, and throughout the year.
With Gratitude,
Will
P.S. During the snowstorm I had my tri-monthly stress-out about productivity, and the Beyoncé comparisons crept in. You know, the adage that she has the same 24 hours as everyone else (which is still not proven to be 100% true). Even with this blog post, I had a plan to write through the weekend and finish before the snow melted, but as is with most plans for productivity, the more time I have and the less time restrictions or accountability I am given, the less likely I am to accomplish the goal. Accountability is powerful. Community is powerful. Also, I'm counting the brownish slush in shady spots as snow and it has yet to melt. Resolution accomplished.
It started on New Year's Eve. I stand on a semi-tangential soapbox when discussing New Year's Eve plans: 90% of New Year's Eve plans, especially in metropolitan areas, are centered around the hype. And they almost always turn to disappointment, because the fairy-tale notion of going to 6 parties in all 6 boroughs (Fun Fact: NYC opens a separate borough on NYE called Richperson Island with an hourly partyferry that runs from 10pm-7am) does not come true. That party you *think* you can get into at EquiToxic, the gym/dance club/art gallery, has an age limit of 21. On either side. Like, to get in, you have to be 21. The dream of meeting the perfect man by the stroke of midnight and kissing a frog/beast/bear/woolly mammoth as the ball drops, turning him into a Ken-doll-but-with-genitalia, and running through a sunlit meadow of lilies and snow at sunrise on New Year's Day never becomes a reality. To combat the inevitable frustration, I decided to stay in.
...actually, who am I kidding? I'm a 20-something, extroverted millennial. I planned to party-hop til noon, armed with my mantra to go with the flow and just let everything play out, expecting nothing. I hadn't slept much the night before, but it would be fine. The night went as follows:
8:08pm: Awesome. Only 8 minutes late to a friend/neighbor's house to get ready for the night. Dressed in someone else's clothes, I'm lookin' fiiiiine.
8:47pm: Later leave-time than expected. It takes a while prepping (re: eating leftover Christmas desserts and talking too much), but we knew that might happen. Fine.
9:53pm: Slow trains, because it's December 31st. It's fine, we know this. We arrive in the East Village a bit later than we had planned, with a few slices of uneaten chocolate cake for the hostess gift - I had been tempted to scarf them down while waiting for the train, but I save the slices. Victory.
10:27pm: Having a blast! Steven, the twin brother, who came up from North Carolina for the festivities, planned to meet me at this location. My loquaciousness and lack of attention to my phone, coupled with his underdeveloped sense of direction (I take blame... I ate most of the nutrients in the womb, sorry bro!) push his arrival a tad later than planned. Fine, we knew that might happen, but so far the night has been spectacular.
10:46pm: This is where it gets tricky. We had planned to leave and hang out with Steven's friends for a bit, so we run the 1.3 miles to a West Village bar where his friend is playing guitar. Steven keeps up. No one vomits from exhaustion. We get there just in time... for his friends to walk out. But it's Fine. We didn't want to pay the $10 cover with a 2 drink, 3 appetizer minimum anyway, we say.
10:53pm-11:16pm: The short, quick walk to another friend's super-cool, swanky, basketball-court-on-the-roof, recording-studio-in-the-basement apartment in SoHo turns into a 9-person parade to a pizza place and down a mistaken road or 4. It's fine, I just need to be in Harlem by midnight.
11:17pm: Oh FIIIINE, I guess I'll participate in the toast to the old year. Oh, it's a game? Count me in! It needs to be short though, I have to be in Harlem by midnight.
11:36pm: Uh oh, look at the time! I won't be able to make it! But we're having fun, I'll just stay here for the ball-drop. Let me text my friend that I'll be late... wait, where's my phone? Oh, there it is.
12:00am: Happy New Year! I love you all! Goodbye, take care! Hmm, I should text that I'm close. I'll run. It'll be fine.
1:00am: No, seriously guys, I have to leave. Friends are waiting, but I love you and this conversation about your dog's cute rain boots is too important to miss!
2:00am: See you soon, I gotta go! Wow, 2am already? Ok, let me just text them and say I'll meet them at the after-party in Hamilton Heights. It's totally fine.
Fast forward to 5:13am, in Times Square, flagging down a sleepy policewoman - I had fallen asleep on the train to the after-party, and awoke 2 hours later without my wallet. I blame my father for the genes of a deep-sleeper.
So, my New Year's Eve plans did not work out as I had wanted, and I had let down some friends who were waiting on me so graciously towards the end of the night. But it was a new year! I could tag all of my Facebook updates with #NewYearNewMe, and start anew! I wrote my Resolutions on poster-paper: Run another marathon, go to the gym every day, weekly voice lessons, learn French, host a dinner party once-a-month, write a musical. I got a new phone on January 2nd. 2016 was gonna be my year! Then I lost a bag on January 3rd. It had toiletries, gloves, and a journal, so it could have been worse, but I couldn't help feeling the slow engulfing of the NYP. On January 5th, I pulled a muscle in my leg, right before audition season. On January 6th, I still hadn't found a room to move into once my sublet was up. I had only been to the gym once, and spent a literal 3.5 minutes on a language-learning app before getting bored. But on January 7th, I read an e-mail from my old yoga studio, offering a significant discount to return, since I hadn't been in 6 months. I ran into a friend who mentioned he had started teaching there, and he invited me to come to his class. It was just the impetus I needed to pay for a month-long, unlimited pass. It was a commitment. A resolution. A Resolution. I vowed to take a yoga class every day for the month. I resolved to enhance my diet to build more muscle, and to practice calming exercises for 5 minutes a day. And I failed.
And I was okay with it. I rarely like to fail (I guess no one likes to fail, right?) and it's a mix of pride and insecurity sprinkled with desire to prove self-worth that angers me when I fail - but this has been different. The term "resolution" has some weight to it, because it is rarely used in colloquial conversation. People use the term at the beginning/end of the year, and we literally capitalize (and capitalize on) the word, giving it more clout than it used to have, more influence than it should have. In truth, we are constantly making resolutions, even if they are not "Resolutions." Take my previous roommate, for example. Bless his heart, he is so awesome, but he always buys too much food. He'll come home with 9 bananas and a gallon of milk, for his breakfast and coffee, and every time, 2 weeks later, I'll pour half a gallon of sour milk down the drain and throw 2 bananas in the garbage (and if you know me, you know how much I hate food waste, haha). He realizes that is what happens, but the following day buys 9 more bananas and another gallon of milk. He is subconsciously, and sometimes even consciously, resolving to eat healthier, and tells himself that this time is different. I respect the embarkment of the resolution, even if it does not come to fruition. So, if we are doing these things anyway, why make such a big deal out of it once a year, on January 1st?
It's arbitrary. The Gregorian Calendar isn't even the easiest calendar to follow, what with leap years and daylight savings. January 1 does not denote the start of a lunar or solar cycle. It is just another cold, wintry day in the Northern Hemisphere. It's a day like any other, except for the collective desire to do better. Which is not innately wrong. But the desire easily warps into negative comparisons, waste (of time, money, energy, stress, worry) and pressure. In our collective conscience, we see January in a specific way. I have starting calling it the "Case of the Januarys", a la Garfield or that woman from Office Space and their feelings about Mondays. We want the idealism of a new year, but are often disappointed by the weather, lack of sun, and overall Pessimist-inducing nature of January. I want less of #NewYearNewMe and more of those posters with an eagle and a mountain, saying "This Is the First Day of the Rest of Your Life." Less Resolutions and more resolving to do better. Less measuring of time and more measuring of experience.
It's February 2nd, and I have yet to host a dinner party. I have taken voice lessons, but not weekly. I go to yoga often, but not every day. I have resolved, today, to prepare better for auditions. Because a Resolution on the first day of the year, or a resolution on any other day of the year, should not be measured in failure or success, it should be measured in effort, persistence, and resistance. Resistance to the temptation to fail, but more importantly, resistance to the desire to call it a Failure. That's why gym memberships spike in January but fall in February and March. We decide we have failed and move on, instead of trying again. I'm headed out to yoga in a minute. I didn't go yesterday, but I plan on going tomorrow, and the next day. And I am excited for the resolutions that I can make, break, and re-mold today, tomorrow, and throughout the year.
With Gratitude,
Will
P.S. During the snowstorm I had my tri-monthly stress-out about productivity, and the Beyoncé comparisons crept in. You know, the adage that she has the same 24 hours as everyone else (which is still not proven to be 100% true). Even with this blog post, I had a plan to write through the weekend and finish before the snow melted, but as is with most plans for productivity, the more time I have and the less time restrictions or accountability I am given, the less likely I am to accomplish the goal. Accountability is powerful. Community is powerful. Also, I'm counting the brownish slush in shady spots as snow and it has yet to melt. Resolution accomplished.
Steven and I at the fancy-shmancy place
Unintentionally #twinning
Some random Instagram picture I screen-shot. Appropriate, though.
I know it sounds hippie-dippie, but it has helped me. Kinda cool that all of that is in one word.
I successfully moved another time, and the new roomie didn't know about snow cream.
My response when he mentioned he didn't know about snow cream. But we bond over this: 30 Rock.
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