“I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape – the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn’t show.” – Andrew Wyeth
January is supposed to be a time when you take a moment to examine your life. You think about your choices over the past year and question whether they were healthy or even sane (like that time in 2011 when you ate Thai food for seven days straight).
Then, if you’re like me, you dive energetically into winter’s biggest cliché: the compiling of New Year’s resolutions. (I have a weakness for lists.) I like to think of New Year’s resolutions as recyclable, since every year I pick up and dust off resolutions discarded the previous February or March.
This year, I thought I might feel a little more accountable if I wrote about my efforts (there is nothing like public shaming). At first, I worried that blogging about your New Year’s resolutions might feel a little bit like the proverbial nightmare where you’re standing in front of a large audience, naked and judged. But in a moment that was both freeing and slightly deflating, I realized no one was obligated to check this site except my parents (hi guys!) and decided to press on.
Without further ado . . .