THE SONIC BOOMER
I have decided that my New Year’s resolutions this year will focus solely on resolving to take the pressure off myself. I will have to be tough on myself but, in the words of Rosie the Riveter, “We Can Do It!”
Resolution Number One: Drop all the old regrets. I’ve spent decades of my life focused on just a few things I would’ve done differently, like that one day on the grade school playground or that one incident in the high school hallway. Forget it!
Resolution Number Two: When I’m not busy on wishing I hadn’t stuffed Stuart into his locker (he deserved it, but I should’ve taken the high road), I rethink various decisions I’ve made along the way. Should I have stuck with my original intention to play the drums, not the oboe? Too late! And would I have really enjoyed that rock band tour bus anyway?
Resolution Number Three: With everything I’ve been able to cram into my life, I still find time to moan about lost opportunities. I never went to Europe as an au pair for that family in Chicago. I never officially used my teaching degree. I never bet all my chips on one number. You know what? The next chance I get, I’m going to bet all my chips. Mission accomplished!
Resolution Number Four: I am sick to death of hearing about what I should and shouldn’t eat. From now on, I’m taking my mother’s advice: “everything in moderation.” I’ve already got the first part down, and I’ll work on the “moderation” part next year. In the meantime, if anything happens to me, I can blame mom. Everyone knows that is a universally acceptable excuse.
Resolution Number Five: It has always been a dream of mine to have control over all my electronics — the computer and its continual need to be updated, the alarm system and its secret codes, the TV remote and its plethora of colorful buttons, Alexa and her scary relationship to Big Brother — but the truth is, a big long reference list of pertinent information would do the trick. This list could be cheerfully compiled by someone else, lovingly placed into a manila file folder and then handed to me. Done.
Resolution Number Six: There are people I should call, and I do try to call them. When I don’t, the fact that I made a true, conscientious effort should be enough to put my mind at ease. But no. I feel guilty if I can’t call them and blame myself. “Are your priorities so screwed up that you cannot fit a simple phone call into your life?” Uh-huh. They are. Sorry.
Resolution Number Seven: Do you have any idea of the number of social media outlets with which the aforementioned conscientious person should be interacting? Zillions. The guilt (and time) associated with actively ignoring all the various forms of social media is huge. So you know what I’m going to do? Hire someone to pose as me. An administrative avatar. Problem solved.
Resolution Number Eight: If I see one more book, article or calendar with a laundry list of places I have to visit before I die, I’ll scream. How about this? I’ll carry your book in my glove compartment, and if I accidentally happen upon one of these places, I’ll check it off. Would that satisfy you? Good, because it will satisfy me.
Resolution Number Nine: In 2019, I’m going to narrow my personal goals to one… “make it to 2020.” That’s attainable, and that’s good enough for me. Why? Because I have vision. (That type of 2020/vision joke is something you will hear a lot next year, but I wanted to be the first.)
Resolution Number Ten: No more corny jokes.
Happy New Year!
