My New Year’s Res-Illusions

According to a 2016 American study, 91 per cent of people don’t follow through on their resolutions.

That’s why, for 2023, I’m only going to make res-illusions.

Here are my illusions so far.

I will work out at least three times a week, without fail, because my body is a temple. I will join a yoga class and become One with Everything.

I will refrain from sarcasm (yeah, right . . .) I will write handwritten notes to those I care about, instead of dashing off emails and texts.

I will cook more. No, really. I will shop every day for fresh food and avoid the processy foods of the dreaded inner grocery aisles. I will buy more vitamins and among the 24 bottles in my cupboard I will finish at least one of them. I will eat more healthily, like Brussels sprouts and legumes. And I will only buy free range, organic animals that led super-happy lives — animals so joyful they really had a fighting chance at self-actualization. And then I’ll eat them. And I will also stop finding ways to reference Maslow.

I will come to fully understand the teenage brain.

I will learn to always go with the flow without complaining, no matter life’s curveballs.

I will walk more in nature and get up early enough to see animals (other than wandering humans who are also looking for the animals). I will buy fewer dress clothes. I will buy fewer matcha green tea lattes.

I will become a handyman around the house, instead of the unhandyman I currently am. I will travel more to exotic locations. I will finally start writing that next book that’s been on my mind.

I will master TikTok.

I will join TikTok.

I will stop making so many lists. My desk looks like a graveyard of broken promises.

I will complete my learning of the Norwegian language. (Can I call it complete if I only got 4 per cent of the way through my Duo Lingo language app?) Ønsk meg lykke til!

I will stop using the word indefatigable. Nobody wants to hear that word. Nobody wants to see that word. And quite frankly, it’s just a super-hard word to say.

I will stop lecturing my girlfriend on how much lip gloss she uses and refrain from telling her she’s done this to herself because her lips now expect a dose of fake moisturization every seven minutes. (But it’s so true. I really just want her to get it!)

Join me next year at this time, in this space, for My New Year’s Prosecutions, in which everything I don’t like goes on trial.