Fruits and Faults

I.

Pick up all toenail clippings from the coffee table.

Lock the doors every time I leave the house.

Remember coffee mug.

Remember to remember.

Wipe the hair from the shower glass before it ends up clogging the drain anyway.

Some of these were real resolutions. The ones that weren’t were more fun to write, and not too hard either. I added some more:

Kill the stink bugs the first time I see them.

Keep a count of all 57 contained bobby pins.

Pee at least five times a day.

Why didn’t anyone ever write anti-resolutions? You know, things that weren’t “goals” but givens. Anti-resolutions were easier because they didn’t hold promise. They just were. They didn’t need to be resolved because the universe already gave each a solution: just don’t do it. Period. I picked up an assortment tray and popped a few grapes in my mouth. 

Don’t sleep with random stranger. Check.

Avoid doorless vans offering puppies and candy. Check, check.

Swerve for squirrels. Okay, maybe not check. But I do stop.

Why keep what doesn’t need resolving? I much preferred the parts of my list I already did because the rest were often paired with shame, failure, difficulty, failure, and failure. Yeah, there’s a lot of unwritten failure on that list, and each letter adds to its ammunition. Happy New Year. Would you like more failure with that champaigne?

I took a swig from my glass and accidentally stained the cocktail napkin with a missed droplet. The ink merged in some places so that “wipe the hair from the shower glass” becomes “wipe air from sho ass.” I’ll drink to that. And I do, gulping the rest in one final sip as I pass the tray to the next unwitting soul.

II.

Lose 20 pounds. Or 10.

Eat more celery - it’s negative calories.

Maybe lose 5 pounds.

Drink 64 ounces of water a day. In two days?

Writing things down meant committing to them. I had a hard time committing to plans, let alone goals. Dr. Shaverstrom recommended viewing resolutions less as goals and more as ambitions - like career ambitions - but that seemed more daunting. Like a 12-month plan could morph into a 5-year contract at Fit Fab Flex if I wasn’t too careful. Maybe I should be more careful.

Run a mile.

Take the stairs, half of them.

Eat celery without ranch.

But would any of that be enough? Dr. Shaverstrom said that ambition takes overachievement. That way, when you did fall short, you weren’t really messing up your resolutions. You just thought you were, and the guilt would be just the thing to motivate.

Someone passed me a tray of food - well, she passed me an empty glass, “oopsed” hrt way out of it with a laugh, then replaced it with the food. It was a fruit tray, the kind that didn’t actually have all fruit but an assortment of things like cheeses, crackers, and celery. I plucked a cheese cube and another rolled onto the note I’d been taking on my phone. Ambition takes overachievement. I guess it took restraint, too. I set aside the cheese cube, picked up a piece of raw celery, and gnawed, even more unsure if my overachievements were attainable.

Lose nothing, gain nothing.

Walk.

Drink a glass of water, if it’s around.

I could always consult Dr. Shaverstrom’s website to see what he thinks about playing it safe. There was also this great book that came out this time last year by Dr. Oglesby. Dr. Oglesby recommended choosing one resolution and committing to it for 40 days. Anything less than 40 days ran a higher risk of breaking. I revisited my list. Losing and gaining nothing sounded like something I could do for 40 days.

III.

Be joyful in hope.

Be patient in affliction.

Be faithful in prayer.

What did affliction even mean, anyway? I looked it up: something that causes pain or suffering. Did that mean I had to be patient in this resolution writing game, if it was a resolution I wrote down? Or did these things start after the party? I wasn’t really writing them down for this year anyway. Really, I wanted to see how far I’d gotten with my resolution from last year: be more Christian. And by “be more Christian,” I meant memorize the heck out of those verses people quoted on their Instagram stories.

Do not withhold good from those who deserve it…

When it’s in your power to help them.

Right, right, right. I jotted that one down on the inside of my palm as a tray made its way to my lap. Right away, the girl tapped something else on her phone. She must be a hardcore resolutionist. I looked down at the tray and then back up at her, thinking of ways I could cross another verse off last year’s list…

“Um. Did you see the salted caramel fudge behind the celery? You should try it.” I offered back the tray, pleased with myself because let’s be real. Salt + caramel + fudge = the ultimate goodness anyone could ask for. No one could say I’m withholding good after that offer.

The girl clutched her phone. Bit her lip. I nudged the tray onto the arm rest between us, offered an encouraging smile. She pinched a piece of fudge between her thumb and forefinger. Stared at it. I decided her crestfallen expression was because she accidentally dipped it in some of the ranch, and I passed on the tray so the person beside me could give that heavenly goodness a try. It felt good to check things off. Maybe there was some merit to this whole resolution-thing. Let’s see...what’s another?

Do not conform to the patterns of this world

But be transformed by the renewing of your mind.

Ah. Conformity. The ultimate reason why a lot of people didn’t do this whole New Year’s resolution thing, anyway. If the Bible was saying transformation came from renewing our thinking, did that mean resolutions were a load of crap? I huffed at my open palm, at the three verses scribbled across it. Well. I did them. Didn’t I? And if the Bible says we shouldn’t conform, then I guess that meant I was exempt from this year’s resolutions.