re-defining resolution

The trick-thing about about making resolutions is they're just too narrowly defined. All about "I'm going to do this. I'm not going to do that." No point in the follow-through impaired starting each new year with a blue print for failure. How masochistic is that?

Year after year, I have steadfastly refused.

The 20s were a winking satisfaction with hedonism, happily skipping down the path to self enihilation and stopping to smell the ashes. College housemates drew-up maps for self-growth and started jogging, I loaded a tube and wondered why anyone would want to make changes that require running. Mystified. The early-30s were defeat, so why bother making promises I would keep for a week? The mid-30s were hopeless desire - the path overgrown, obscured under thickets of witch's broom that left long stinging cuts up my arms, across my back, as I belly-crawled through it. Now, late-30s, slathering salve on the wounds, I'm re-defining resolution.

Success isn't about following the formula, it's about reformulating to make things work.

So, this year, my first resolution:

"I can ..."

Simple, versatile, fluid.

perfect.