The New Year means nothing to me than an aggravation to write the previous year mistakenly on every dated document. Resolutions are useless to me, because it’s another expectation, which I strive to meet. Losing weight, being more organized, and writing more have always been tasks that I want to accomplish, but why would I assign a specific date to resolve them?
|I don’t claim to be an artist.|
Two things inspire me about this new year. When I am asked what my resolutions are, for the sake of appeasing the masses, I conjure up something. In my mind, however, I draw a blank and ruminate. But that is exactly it— a huge question mark. They’re everywhere! Aside from the interrogative meaning, I like the symbol by itself. It evokes the unknown and invites the imagination to wander and create anything.
The second thing to inspire me is a quote my uncle says to me all the time, and I finally watched it in Mame. The eccentric aunt says to the homely and conservative nurse, “Life is a banquet— and most poor sons of bitches are starving to death!” I’m not advocating for gluttony, but do stuff yourself full of experiences. What are we to do but live?
Cherish the unknown, the unexpected, and embrace each moment as a surprise! If you don’t like surprises, then you aren’t living and are waiting for an outcome— fine and dandy, but a life well lived is a life not wasted.
|This hangs in my room.|
Our intuition is usually right, though we have selective hearing to it because it often disagrees with our expected outcome. And the more you fight it, the bigger the struggle becomes. The bigger the struggle, the more resistance to accept your own truth increases. When you observe and notice yourself right now, then and only then will change occur.
For example, working out. In my brief passings with gym rats with sculpted, aesthetically pleasing bodies, their exercises are quick, forceful and harsh with grunting and squeals of pain. There is no secret that this burns calories and produces results, but what is lost is the mindset of enduring one moment of intensity. The quicker they can get over that pain, the better. I feel humble when I practice yoga, and buff people (especially men) look around in disbelief that I’m gracefully poised and deeply rooted in a pose. Although I cannot comment on their thoughts, for it is of their own, I can imagine that with some entitlement they feel that they should be able to do these poses as “well” as I can. The reason I quoted “well” is because it is relative and moot; my pose is different from theirs, not better, not worse. Bottom line: they have too much ego involved.
|The most hipster thing I’ve ever created.|
Most of this knowledge I have learned on the yoga mat with the wisdom of my instructor— and it has been more than helpful and grounding with this last month of a breakup, academic woes, and a downright slump in life. The moment I stopped wishing for “things to get better” and said, “Well. I have no boyfriend, my grades are in shambles, and I am not respecting myself.” was the moment small changes occurred.
My advice for resolutions: scrap them. Take a huge step back, breathe, and fill up a plate with several servings of life.