Changing New Year’s Resolutions into Evolutions
Once upon a time, at the first of every year, I, an adult-type person who no longer believed in Santa Claus, resolved to be extra good and work extra hard to prove myself worthy of the life I was told to want. When the next New Year rolled around, I’d be thin and fit (whatever that meant), have a lucrative publishing contract, an organized home, and a flattering new hair style. All would be topped off with a big dollop of peace of mind and self-acceptance.
Taking into account the reality of my family’s body type and my disability and the facts of writing Literary Fiction and my life-long history of clutter, uncooperative hair, and anxiety disorders—none of the above could possibly happen. Yet, with the sky beginning to brighten in the afternoons as the sun inched back toward spring, self-mandated change felt possible, if not obligatory. I could give the world a better version of me by means of sheer resolve.
The problem: A resolution’s fine print is located in its meaning. To resolve is to bring a state of tension back to a state of equilibrium. Clench your fist tight and then relax it, that feeling of relief is the resolution. It’s not a task. It’s a release. However for me, a resolution held a vow that I would exert control over myself until I realized my arbitrary goals. Or so I told myself. Mind over matter. Year after year.
Instead of a futile fight with change’s mighty tidal pull, I swam with change until things changed again. And things will always change again.
The force needed to affect change in one’s natural patterns is immense and requires constant vigilance. An effort that begs exhaustion and a chorus of guffaws from the Universe. Real change is not a willed event. Real change is the ability to adapt, to grow. To try to resolve my way into what I could never be, turned my life into a sense of nothing but a failure that necessitated ever more resolutions. Eventually the fatigue from trying to “fix” myself became the only authentic thing about me.
Until out of desperation, I tried a new approach.
Instead of a futile fight with change’s mighty tidal pull, I swam with change until things changed again. And things will always change again. Taken this way, the process of engaging with change felt far less violent, absolute, and self-defeating. Engaging openly with change made room for choice rather than mere obedience, for learning my life rather than conquering it. On realizing this, I figured the first choice to make was to meet the New Year with less resolving to control myself and more searching for ways to evolve.
Evolution is a open response to change. Evolution requires making creative choices based on who I am and what I have to work with right now. I can’t promise I’ll finish my novel this coming year. I can promise to work on the manuscript—even if only for a couple of sentences—when possible. Evolution is not about changing my life, but rather appreciating what my life offers in this moment, both strengths and limitations. To evolve assumes an abundance of possibility. To resolve demands an abundance of enforcement.
Now with the New Year, I will choose one aspect of my life I want to offer more attention. This new year, the attention-choice is my writing. I want to see how my work evolves into whatever it’s going to be, the novel’s adaptive response to my life’s changes. That what happens next? uncertainty is what makes life a story and gives us something to write about.
Writing Exercise
What were your resolutions last year? Write them down. For each resolution of last year, write the story of what became of it. How did you feel about the outcome. Did unexpected change impact your plans? Reconsider your resolutions—revise each resolution into a process you can work toward over the coming 365 days. Be specific. Be kind. Provide yourself choices rather than rules. I will write 1,000 words a day is ambitious and demanding. I will write 10 minutes every day when time allows is doable because you get to choose when time allows. Given the two options, what do you want to try this year?
Photo by Chris Barbalis on Unsplash