I don’t make New Years Resolutions. I have never managed to keep them.
But every year in like November or February I usually come up with something I want to change and get on it. I usually manage to stick with these little changes.
When I was like 14 I decided I wanted to stop biting my nails. And I did.
Last year in March I decided I was sick of gaining weight after throwing out my back so I decided I was going to get healthy. I started going to the chiropractor, started working out, got my nutrition in line.
I am today 56 lbs lighter than I was. I fit in a pair of jean shorts I bought in high school when I was swimming 3 hours and dancing 2 hours a day. I can do more pushups than my brother. I’d say it was a success.
This year, my goal for myself was set back in early December.
I wanted to reclaim myself. That wasn’t the goal, really. It was far too vague, but it was definitely on my mind.
When I was younger I was wild. I tried out for bands, went dancing alone (or with friends), stayed out all night walking around Hollywood, then drove to the beach on the way home to watch the sun come up. I played drunk kickball with my friends in the park near our sorority house after midnight then hiked to Denny’s for pancake puppies. I stalked musicians on twitter and “bumped into them” outside restaurants.
I wrote short stories and played guitar.
I sang in the shower and danced around my kitchen.
I went to art shows.
I crept around the library like a ghost at night just before it closed and consumed 20 books a week.
I was social. I met new people all the time.
Even at my saddest I was on fire for life. I would use depression and anxiety to create something new.
In December I didn’t know where that girl went, or quite when she went. She was just gone. I wanted to find her, but I’m just SO afraid of everything these days I didn’t know where to start.
I’ve been an Agoraphobe since Junior High, if we’re being honest. Walking the halls was too much for me so during break and lunch I’d stay in the library, tucked up by the window watching everyone else, or reading. When I hit my stride in high school, I never really let it bother me as much. In the 16-20 range I worked through it easier. It just seems that whenever the joie de vivre left me, the phobia crept back in.
I decided that this year, now that I’m healthy and more confident in myself physically, that its a good time to start putting myself out there again. Maybe if I started going out and doing things with other people, I could start reclaiming my joy. As I’ve mentioned multiple times, now, I took up social dancing, and even got my roommates into it. As a result I’ve made new friends who are encouraging me (whether they know it or not) to go out and try more new things. It’s begun to feed into itself.
After a night out dancing, I would feels so good. Confident. Happy. I could take on the world if I had to. The sucky bits of work sucked less. I slept well. I jumped into my workouts with more gusto. Everything was better the days following a Blues dance. I called it my dance high.
That high has been lasting longer and longer each time I go out.
I looked at myself the other day and realized it might not be a dance high. I may just be happy again.
I’m dancing again, that goes without saying, but it’s not just blues. I listen to music again. I EXPLORE music again like I haven’t in years. I was always the girl who knew the underground, indie, new comer, up-and-comer bands and artists you HAD to listen to. I had a lyric for every moment. The perfect song for anyone. I’m getting there again.
Instead of listening to Netflix or YouTube while I cook or clean, it’s music. And I find myself dancing. All arms one moment. Jazz hands! Disco arms! Other times I’m swaying like a leaf, drifting on a summer breeze.
I’ve picked up my guitar again. An acquaintance from the Blues scene wants to form a band and I want to try out.
I started singing in the shower again some time before Dee moved in with us.
I’m a huge fan of adult coloring books.
I read before bed instead of watching Netflix and I’m back to finishing off 2+ books a week.
I’ve started writing again obviously. It’s not just this blog, either.
I dusted off some bits of fiction I workshopped in college and then abandoned somewhere in the mix. They’re lovely. I don’t know why I let them go.
What I’m trying to say in all this is that my life has color again. Hope.
I don’t set resolutions in definite terms because it doesn’t work that way.
If I had set a resolution to pick up all my old hobbies, it would have flopped. I would have stared at my short stories and lost faith that I could ever be creative again. I would have picked up my guitar and not had anything I cared to play. I would have played the old songs I knew and got irritated that I couldn’t play them like I used to.
Instead, I started doing something different. Something I knew I could do. Something I had support for. Something that would make me happy and get me out of the house and start me on a new trajectory.
Everything else fell back into place.
Its not the activities that matter, it’s how you feel.
Right now, I feel good. Not all the time. But in general, and most of the time, I feel great. Feeling great feeds into itself just like feeling awful does, so if I continue on. If I set attainable goals for myself I can keep moving forward and putting myself on the right path.
And I plan on doing just that.