The state of firm determination.
A formal statement of a decision or expression of opinion put before or
adopted by an assembly such as the U.S. Congress.
The act or process of separating or reducing something into its constituent parts:
The fineness of detail that can be distinguished in an image, as on a video display terminal.
The subsiding or termination of an abnormal condition, such as a fever or an inflammation.
A court decision.
An explanation, as of a problem or puzzle; a solution.
The part of a literary work in which the complications of the plot are resolved or simplified.
The progression of a dissonant tone or chord to a consonant tone or chord.
The tone or chord to which such a progression is made.
The substitution of one metrical unit for another, especially the substitution of two short syllables for one long syllable in
Really, a resolution boils all accoutrements down to the nitty-gritty. And yet, the traditions of new year resolution-making is not about simplifying…it is about adding a bunch of crap that we don’t really need.
So….I resolve. Not to resolve.
I don’t do resolutions. I’ve got enough internal pressure to assure me that I’ve got “miles and miles to go before I sleep.” If anything, I
save my “where is my life going?” pontification for 1:37 am in the morning, when the Advil PM Shiraz Whiskey night-cap wears off and google
informs me that the pain in my chest may be a broken rib.
In all seriousness, usually around my birthday is when I begin to set my sights on what I want to cultivate in my life. I’ve spoken against resolutions before, so I won’t go into that here.
Except to re-iterate…when you put a lot into what you DON’T want, or can’t have (NO CAFFEINE, NO SODAS, NO FRIED FOODS, NO GOING OUT TO EAT) you’ll end up feeling deprived, victimized, and demoralized. But when you define what you want and WHY, tolerating the sweat and discomfort of change to obtain your desires feels much more “worth it.”
For example…I want to travel…and I must tolerate the ass-numbing cold and change in my sleeping schedule, and the drama of “am I going to
make it (time wise, luggage weight wise, sitting in a paltry gas station while the German takes his mandatory 4 hour “smoke break) in order to
experience the highs of watching dudes light fireworks over a canal in Amsterdam right underneath my head, or seeing the marks of a growing
Anne Frank in the corner of her bedroom wall, or sipping cocoa after falling all day learning to ski in the Alps.
So yeah…it would be nice if my poo was more S-shaped, like Dr. Oz tells me it “should be”, and perhaps life would be “better” if I gained
10 pounds. And maybe, just maybe…I would feel “more alive” if I had a pet emu, or a lover, or started composting.
But more so, why don’t I just embrace the grief, fear, loneliness, and vulnerability essentially inherent to transitions….to growth….
And share it with courage.