Bon soir, and welcome to 2014, which will hopefully be a hell of a lot better than the blood soaked, money drained, icon killing clusterfuck that was 2013. As is common during the first week or so of a new year, many people will be attempting to come up with some changes they can make to better themselves. Or worsen themselves. Depending on your perspective.
This year however, I won’t be joining in this time honoured tradition, because I’ve finally realised that resolutions are doomed to fail, always. Why put yourself through the pain of disappointment when you will inevitably cave and devour a whole bag of Cool Original Dorito’s when you can just drop the pretence and pig out?
According to that noble bastion of all things bullshit, The Daily Mail (hail Satan), the top three New Year’s resolutions among residents of the UK are:
1. Lose weight
2. Get fit
3. Eat more healthy
Seeing as 1 and 3 together essentially make 2, it’s easy to see why I’m a bit jaded at the whole concept, there never is a deep and meaningful change that someone can make within a year (the rest of the list includes wonderfully vague gems likes “Read more” (more what, the fucking Mail?), and “Get out of a rut,” that would be me, now, getting off the DM website). So what’s the use?
An unfulfilled resolution is basically a masochistic version of the drill sergeant from Full Metal Jacket, screaming insults at yourself only to lose it and blow your brains out in a bathroom a few weeks later. It’s arguably even worse when you make your resolution public, then everyone else can join in the shaming and turn the whole sordid affair into a bukkake of judgment and tear stained Ryvita minis, watching you choke on your carrot and beetroot smoothie as they walk past fellating an éclair with a look that says “I don’t give a flying fuck, and look how happy I am.”
This year, I’m saving my cheer, saving it for a change that I really want to make. Right now I’m past caring about my double chin, or my rapidly growing belly (fat guys are more fun to cuddle ladies), or even the fact that I’m a cynical judgmental pillock to everyone but those I deem worthy of my niceness. My resolution is not to have any resolutions, to stop having expectations of myself and others, to let life take its merry course and deal with whatever ruinous bank it dumps me on.
The simple fact is this, dear reader, life is just too short and too fucked to spend it endlessly fretting over calories and measuring your waist every day in case you may have perchance lost an inch. Life is for living, be it good or bad, for taking everything as it comes and letting how you act define who you are, not subjecting yourself to drunken whims and distant wishes.
I understand that this does sound weirdly out of character for me, normally I’m the (self-confessed) voice of reason, but something has twigged inside that has led to this outpouring of manly introspectiveness. It might be the fact that I’m growing more pensive in my old age, because I’m more scared than excited for my year abroad, perhaps because I watched the beautiful Italian film La Grande Bellezza the other day and its message has sunk in to some deep, uncharted depth. I honestly don’t know.
But fear not, though I (and surely at least one other person) may be of the persuasion that arbitrary annual goal setting is a fruitless endeavour, there are others out there with the necessary determination to see it through, and I applaud them. Hopefully for every cynic like me there are a dozen do-ers, achievers who will stop at nothing to reach their aim. These are the Sir Edmund Hilary’s of the Mt. Everest of Weightwatchers, the bathysphere Triestes of the Mariana Trench that is the gym, and though I may never expect to join their ranks, to wait arms open for success, I, like everyone, can dream.
All men dream, but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds, wake in the day to find that it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act on their dreams with open eyes, to make them possible.
XOXO, The New Indian.