It’s the New Year, but I don’t feel any different. Unless you count my new cold.
New years are always strange in that they traditionally start out with a heart full of hope, a head full of optimism and, equally, a decent touch of nostalgia. Conversely, nothing has set this weekend apart from most other weekends in my household, besides the bottle of champagne we shared, or my husband having a three-day weekend, or my oldest daughter being home from school.
I don’t feel different, exactly, but my stuffy nose and slight grumpiness are helping me to appreciate things I normally love and take for granted — like a good workout and breathing through my nose.
I’ve also generally rebelled against the idea of a New Year’s resolution.
There’s something gross about trying to make ourselves into better people only once a year; we mentally cram our already pretty worthwhile selves into some glass-Cinderella-slipper-vision of who we wish we were, rather than taking in the positives of who we already are.
This year though, I don’t think I’ll entirely throw away the concept of New Year’s resolutions, like I usually do. Instead, I think I’ll take a moment to pay more attention to who I am now, and to where I want to go.
I want to remind myself to slow down and enjoy my coffee. I want to remind myself to hug my husband when he leaves for work in the morning, even if we had a spat beforehand. I want to pay better attention to the pathways that I’m carving — to these grooves that my existing habits are creating — on my heart and in my life.