The holidays are crazy.  After spending beyond the budget, eating enough to kill an elephant, and drinking a corner of our liver off, there is renewed pressure on whether we succeeded in meeting our new year’s resolutions for 2011.  Dare we look at the list made after spiked egg nog, red wine and a couple of shots of scotch approximately 12 months ago?  Yet another list made with high hopes and renewed enthusiasm.  Is it possible to sustain enthusiasm for all those items on the list for an entire year?  Alas, a couple of goals were actually met on the list:  Goal No. 1:  “read at least one book this year (and Twitter doesn’t count);” and Goal No. 10: “sleep more.”  Congratulations!  However, the disappointment comes when none of the unrealistic resolutions in the middle were met or even attempted, like Goal No. 6:  “Save a million dollars;” and Goal No. 8: “Buy a Lamborghini.”

For centuries humans have carefully put together their life’s plans resolving at the stroke of midnight that their new life begins on January 1 by adhering to a list.  I have gone so far as to frame my list. One time I hung it on the fridge so I was forced to look at it daily.  Another time I actually miniaturized my list.  I put it in my wallet so that it would fall out when I paid cash for something like a Starbucks coffee, which I’m sure was a no-no on my list.  Crap.

Not only do we set ourselves up for failure, but we fail at some of the items on our list over and over as we try to regroup all year long.  Yes, there are numerous adages that state failures lead to successes; learn from your mistakes; try, try again; and if you fall off, get back on.  All true, but do you really need a list staring at you to remind you that you failed?

On the flip side, I have written thoughts down on paper and thrown them into a fire in an effort to let go.  That felt the best.  I was no longer disappointing myself, I was freeing myself of something that I no longer had a need for in my life.  Maybe it was something dragging me down.  It was a form of liberation without burning my bra.  Especially since bras are really expensive.

As I picked up my notebook to begin creating my list of 2012 resolutions, I thought about the fires in the past and played with the thought of simply not doing it.  After thinking about all the disappointment I have experienced with myself, I wondered which would be worse, no list or not meeting the goals on the list.  As usual, I couldn’t decide what to do.  So, when in a quandary, change gears and walk away from the problem.  The hope is that the answer will pop into my head when I expect it least.  So I started brushing my dog and turned to my favorite blog, Zen Habits, for some reading.  Amazingly, the latest post was all about NOT setting new year’s resolutions.  It was fate.

We already know the answers to our own questions but many times refuse to acknowledge them.  For example, should I eat this piece of Death by Chocolate dessert even though I only have 5 pounds left to lose?  Should I go out drinking even though I have been diagnosed with diabetes?  Should I go to the gym, or watch Steel Magnolias for the 39th time while eating my tears with spoonfuls of Cherry Garcia ice cream?   The same applies to resolutions.  You already know what you want to accomplish.  You might even have a business plan or something to that affect.  Why torture yourself with yet another list?  Don’t you have some twatting on Twitter to do?

Instead of having a year-long “to-do” list that diversions cause you to stray from, experience a year of freedom.  No more stressing about working hard enough to meet a goal or telling anyone what goal you are working towards.  Release the unnecessary stress and enjoy the world around you while you experience new things at your whim.   Not only are you free, but everyone around you is free as well.  Free from your stress.  I should know, I have been stressing out my family for years.  Hopefully I can stick to a “no-resolution resolution.”  There will be a lot of happy people if I can.

Here’s to freedom and a HAPPY NEW YEAR!  Stay tuned for the next installation of “Thank You Notes from Hell” and the Super Bowl.
Carpe Diem!

Today was a great day to take a drive and escape the congestion of the city.  It was as if we lived in a time with no television, no air conditioning and a brand new convertible.  The mercury was expected to stay under 100 degrees and the long flat roads of Texas called out.  What better reason to drive than no reason at all.  Southeast was the direction and within an hour of driving the terrain had changed markedly.  There were beautiful trees, rolling hills and nary a car on the road.  That’s when the fun began.

To say it was like living in another time and place was the theme of the day.  First stop, local gas station on the main strip.  As the gas pump worked to fill our tank, we went into the store for a break and some refreshments.  While waiting for my cohort to choose a drink, I noticed the cute young blond in front of me and thinking to myself, “She is very well put together for a girl in a small podunk town like this,” until I noticed she was purchasing a 90 ounce Slurpee and two large bags of pork rinds.  I tried to snap a picture, but I was seconds behind as she climbed two feet up into her pickup truck where her redneck boyfriend awaited his snicky snacks.

Next stop, the town square.  Saturdays are good days to explore new places, find hidden gems, shop, eat, and enjoy the hustle and bustle of a small town.  We headed for the local farmer’s market which sets up on the sidewalk in front of the courthouse on the town square.  When we arrived, we found nothing.  No hustle, no bustle, not even a freakin’ watermelon.  After illegally crossing the street to avoid a toothless woman in a cowboy hat, we found a swanky espresso cafe / diner / wi-fi hot spot / antique shop on the corner.  Our first mistake was actually asking the young women running the place (one with her infant baby) where the farmer’s market was.  The second mistake was waiting for the answer.  The response from both women was “uh, oh, um . . . ooooh.”  After a few of those, we headed in the direction we thought was part of the answer only to find the local Walmart.  Not even close ladies!  Now we know where they shop because apparently the farmer’s market closes at noon.  The square was not entirely a bust.  We found the local Chamber of Commerce open.  The town square was as quiet as the day was long.  Oh, and at the espresso . . . . shop, you can get statuary for your garden or the run of the mill coral for your bathroom decor all in one place.

After a jaunt at the lake watching small-town teenagers in cutoff jean shorts and high top tennis shoes, we were relaxed and de-stressed, mainly because we no longer had to worry about whether the 80’s were dead.  Apparently the 80’s are alive and well in small towns.   But the fun of watching teenagers try to ditch their alcohol in front of a police officer had to end and we needed to head back to the big city.  Not all was lost because there were still road-side attractions yet to be touched and decided to stop at one of them on our return trip.  The sign read “Good Cookin” in black spray paint.  Sue’s Roost was the name of the place.  Too risky, we chickened out of the roost and headed to an old cotton gin off the highway instead.  It is a restaurant that is physically inside an old cotton gin.  We were greeted with a warm southern smile and could smell the home cooking.  Taking in the ambiance, we stopped to gawk at the murals on the walls.  The owners might as well hang rebel flags in the windows as curtains.  Probably never noticed by the sweet waitresses, but peering down on them was a painting of a white man in a suit sitting on bales of cotton.  He appeared to be watching his migrant and slave workers pick cotton, which in turn was taken to ships and sailed down the Mississippi past the white man’s big mansion.  History was no longer a subject in school, it was real and current.  What nailed it home was observing a group of cowboys coming out of a back room to leave the gin and staring at a black man in the dining room as they walked past him.  I’m not sure, but I think they had white pointy hats tucked in their back pockets next to their Skoal cans.  (Photo by E. Newton).

Life can be sheltered living in the big city and vice versa.  Young folk in small towns enjoy a night in the city, a chance to live in the fast lane for a few hours, and city folk enjoy the slow pace and quiet bliss of a small town to lower their blood pressure.  They are worlds apart however.  One day, we will move back in time again and despite the flaws in social skills, we will return to the espresso . . . . shop, if it still exists, and the cotton gin, if there are no burning crosses out front.  For now, go out and explore, but remember, to each his own.

In case your imagination doesn’t work and from the people who created “People of Walmart”, try “Your Kid’s Art Sucks.”  http://www.yourkidsartsucks.com/.

Carpe Diem!