Every September while I was growing up, my mom would sit my sister and me down at the dining room table, hand us pencils and paper and ask us to write a couple of new school year resolutions. I would resolve to be nicer to my sister, to eat less candy, to clean the cat box more regularly or to turn out my reading light at night when my parents asked me to. It always felt fitting to set goals for the year in September at the start of a new grade, when all things felt fresh and full of possibility.
These days, I’m not as much of a yearly resolution maker, because I feel like if you fail at your big yearly resolutions, then there’s this feeling that you can’t start over or try again until the following year. I resolve every day to create a Marisa who is content and able to receive and accomodate all the unexpected things that life uncovers, so normally I don’t feel the need for yearly resolutions.
But when September and the beginning of school rolls around, I still feel a tug to sit myself down at the dining room table, collect my thoughts and declare to the world that I am going to work to be better at something. I do need to be better about taking my vitamins, maybe I’ll start there.
isn’t it weird how some of those old habits always stick around?
I know, it’s hard to break some of the deeply conditioned stuff. The good and the bad.