It’s that time of year again. Resolutions, Resolutions, Resolutions. Human beings as a species desire to build, to construct, to innovate, and to achieve. It’s how we judge our mortality. And perhaps that’s why symbolically, at the end of one year and the beginning of the next, we naturally take stock of our lives and decide to make improvements. A fresh start we often say. Nevermind that the 1st of the year is a completely arbitrary time to start living the life you want to live.
Perhaps you want to lose weight. Save money. Finish your degree. Make new friends. Buy a house. Run a marathon. Most of us do it. Most of our lists look the same. Even I, the anti-cliche, get sucked into this herd mentality every year. I make a list. Usually an Excel spread sheet. But I digress. And much to my dismay, one week in and 100% percent of my resolutions have, to paraphrase philosopical pugilist Michael Tyson, “faded into Bolivian.”
Why is this? I don’t know. So instead of trying to get back on track, I say let’s just lower the bar. My personal motto for the year: Lowered Expectations.
In lieu of any actual enlightment or encouragement, I present to you a revised, shall we say more…realistic set of resolutions to reset the year of 2012. Noteworthy of course for the impending Mayan apocalypse. Which I frankly welcome, because a slow, but inevitable death from Scotch and boredom hardly seems befitting for an impuslive guy like me.
So in no particular order:
I hope to drink less Diet Soda, which I believe may actually be killing me. Seriously, two or three times a month I wake up with an dull aching sensation in my kidneys. Which is may or may not be due to them shutting down. There’s no proof either way, because I refuse to visit the doctor. Honestly, if there really are chemicals in Diet drinks that cause cancer, I’m f*cked. There’s no way around it. But I’ll be damned if I could go a day without one. Fortunately, besides my frequent sweet tooth binges, it’s pretty much my one vice. I stay away from cigarettes, drugs, and for the most part booze.
I will watch MORE tv. This of course goes against the grain a little. I have to be upfront here. I watch LESS tv than most people I know. I go entire days without actively watching anything on tv. I also stay entirely more stressed out than any other person I know. Now, I am aware that correlation does not necessarily imply causation, but I figure what the hell. Maybe I need to escape from reality a little more this year. A few of the shows on my list to catch up on: It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, Dexter, Homeland, Wilfred, & The Increasingly Poor Decisions of Todd Margaret, & The Big Bang Theory. I also keep meaning to catch Modern Family, but I just don’t know if I have time. Noticeably absent from the list: Toddlers and Tiaras. Let’s just say that I am not a fan of flippers.
Learn to play the guitar. This one seems like a typical, lofty resolution that won’t go anywhere, but I’ve actually made a smidgen of progress here thanks to the amazing…ly expensive game Guitarsmith. But seriously, I highly recommend it. It’s very intuitive, very fun, and also does a pretty good job at making learning the guitar fun. Who says art has to be a labor of love.
Play a LOT of golf. Once again…we’re’ all gonna die in 11 months. Do I really want to spend my days doing something productive when I can zone out and enjoy slamming my golf club to the ground in frustration as I hit another errant tee shot that buzzes past someone’s head? Hint: The answer is no.
Listen to more music. Nothing creates more joy for me than discovering a new band, or a new song, or even an old song that I had forgotten. As more than a few people could attest, I have a new favorite song of all time about once a month. And I like it that way. My top pick for 2011? Sparks Fly by Taylor Swift. Do not judge me.
I will take more pictures, and write more stupid blog postings. Look, I’m not naive. My writing sucks, relatively speaking. My pictures suck, period speaking. But at the end of the day, they make me happy. I have a horrible habit of ripping anything I do to shreds, as if I should be judging my writings next to Hemingway, or my pictures next to Ansel Adams. It’s not only unfair, it’s ridiculously self-defeating. If people only pursued things they were masters of, they’d never pursue anything at all. Unless you’re Beethoven in front of a piano, or Picasso with a paintbrush, you’re not going to be transcedent. I’ve come to accept that lack of perfection does not equal failure. Or I should say, I’m TRYING to accept that concept.
From the Brink. 
