Roughly 11 and a half months ago I resolved that this year I would: Get my book finished (am currently 41,000 words in); write a brilliant and illuminating blog post every week for this and my husbands website; lose 3 stone in weight; be infinitely more productive, and; be infinitely more organised.
Turns out that I was severely deluding myself as I didn’t achieve any of these things. The book is now at 41,050 words and is showing no signs of expanding; this is the first blog I’ve written for 8 months, and as for the rest, well let’s just say that my 2015 resolution list is going to be a tad longer than intended, with all those items I’ve carried forward.
Early every year many of us put pressure on ourselves to improve our lives, but the end of the year creeps up on us too soon and we realise (although I’m sure I don’t speak for all of us, especially those super-motivated, highly effective, super-women types) that we’ve achieved very little, and therefore feel a bit down because we’ve failed, again. So, isn’t it better to avoid resolutions altogether therefore evading the empty deflated feeling later on in the year when mega life-changing declarations turn to dust in our hands? Surely it is better to reflect upon small achievements, in whatever minuscule form they come, as and when they happen. Things like getting the rubbish out before the bin men arrive, getting that article finished before the deadline, and getting the kids school clothes washed and ironed before Monday morning. Getting these small things done make me feel so much more effective as a human being and as a mother, that I spend the rest of the day with a bounce in my step. So, with that in mind, my resolution this year will be that I will not make a resolution. Yet, I fear I’m just setting myself up to fail because alas, I know that come the New Year post-hangover fog my head will be busting not only with toxins but with all the things I want to achieve in the coming 12 months.