RESOLUTION #1. I maybe promise to be more active. Not an unrealistic run-everyday active, but an I’ll-walk-the-long-way-to-the-grocery-store active. I want to actually use my yoga pants for yoga. I don’t need to understand the difference between a running shoe and a basketball shoe, but I want to own both just in case. I want to be able to climb the bare minimum of stairs without being the kind of out of breath where I can’t answer a question.
RESOLUTION #2. I maybe promise to keep the spaces I occupy tidier. Books will live on the bookshelves. Clothes will live on hangers in the closet, or in the dresser I’ve told myself I would buy since 2015. Keys will live in my purse (that I know I’ll be walking out of house with the next day) next to a wallet that actually holds my driver’s license and credit card. And jewelry will live on my nightstand to fuel the pure adrenaline that comes from seeing only one earring when I’m running late in the morning and the rush of relief when I find the matching pair that “just recently” rolled under the bed.
RESOLUTION #3. I maybe promise to write shorter sentences. Or maybe not.
RESOLUTION #4. I maybe promise to talk less, listen more. I want to hear the end of someone else’s story, no interruptions. I want to want to not interrupt, not just not interrupt. I want to be the hype man to your story without saying “yeah” as your punctuation and nodding like I’m a bobblehead on the dashboard of 2012 Honda Civic that I paid off a few years ago. It’s eco-friendly. Yeah.
RESOLUTION #5. I maybe promise to wear more hats. Or to stop buying hats.
RESOLUTION #6. I maybe promise to go out of my way to connect with someone new. Stranger danger is just the danger of not being nice to a stranger. Which is something I would say when I’m feeling the anxiety of a social interaction.
RESOLUTION #7. I maybe promise to overcome my fear of charcuterie plates. I want to demonstrate to myself that moderation is possible when it comes to eating mozzarella and cured meats. And when it isn’t possible, I want to not call it food poisoning.
RESOLUTION #8. I maybe promise to leave my comfort zone to find my comfort zone. I want to give out my social security number and trust that no one is going to steal my identity, but be willing to take the risk. Also, take more walks. To the monuments. To museums. To a baseball game. To my living room.
RESOLUTION #9. I maybe promise to learn the ideal number that constitutes a list. Which I may or may not have exceeded.
RESOLUTION #10. I maybe promise to maybe promise throughout the whole year, not just the first week. Or the first month. Or the first moon cycle. But I also maybe promise to slip up on my maybe promises as long as a maybe promise to never say maybe promise again.
/ˈskribəl/ 