The only new year’s resolution I’ve ever really knocked out of the park was deciding my freshman year of college to floss every day. Did this save me from periodontal disease? No, it did not. But at least the hygienist and periodontist coo over my self-care before they detail how my gums are receding to the point of fwapping around my ankles.
Last year, I picked a word for the year. I used a random word generator, and I got BOLD. I figured it meant I should be all sassypants and get my writing out there and pitch magazines and stuff. Little did I know that BOLD was code for “Get your meds straightened out and be quiet and still and maybe accept that that’s OK.”
Depression never feels BOLD. Self-care never feels BOLD. But maybe taking care of yourself is the sassiest, most revolutionary thing you can do. It doesn’t really feel like it.
This year, the same random generator gave me the word IMPERFECT. Clearly, this was not the word for me, so I tried again and again and again. But none of those words were right, either. They were, well, IMPERFECT.
So, maybe this is the year I embrace imperfection, that I embrace “right enough.”
I have been a bit of a hermit. I’m not working as much as I once did. I’m sitting more, petting a dog or looking at the sky. Maybe this is OK?
What if the “there’s always something a little bit shitty” old house is exactly as it should be? What if all the dog hair is bolstering my immune system and now I’ll live to be 103? What if I am not meant to work 24/7 and what if that is OK?
It feels like in the 80s, we were fed the line that women can and should have it all. In the immortal words of my mother, “Having it all is complete bullshit.” And yet, it’s so hard to let go.
Maybe IMPERFECT is letting go and accepting what is already immaculate and ideal.
Well, and judging other people. Because when I thought long and hard about a new year’s resolution, I was listening to my 90s R&B mix. And so I decided that my resolution was to get hit on by a loser so I could be all, “I don’t want no scrubs. Scrub is a guy who can’t get no love from me.”
It feels like a legit goal. No, I don’t want your number. No, I don’t wanna give you mine.
In the meantime, if you need me, I’ll be here ruminating. In my house. Covered in dog hair. Being quiet. Me and my receding gums and my big dreams.