January is supposed to be a fresh, new start to the year, right? Full of promises we make to ourselves and one another, and we most often hear them at the end of a liquor-swilled dinner. People resolve to make themselves thinner, exercise and meditate, swear off cigarettes, stop burying Fed Ex drivers in the backyard …
Regardless, along with all the “New You” promises made sits a quiet, smug, don’t-need-to-be-flashy-because-that’s-not-what-we’re all-about campaign. It’s the “Simpler You,” the “Par Down to the Core You,” the:
“Barely there, but so aware” promise you make to yourself.
Cleanse. Purge. Sluice. Expunge. Clarify. Erase. (Somehow, I still get the unnerving feeling this can loop back to the Fed Ex guys.)
It doesn’t matter what words you use to define it, but it makes most sense to me with this word:
(Funny enough, that word is overstuffed with a mess of letters.)
It’s a word that has to elbow its way to the front of my hippocampus where it muscles past all my other short-term memory “to-dos” and insists—nay, screams—for immediate attention.
I write myself a Post It note to remember.
There’s a lot that needs sorting. My desk, my closet, the pantry, the fridge, the barn and at some point I’d like to find where I last left the kids.
I find it near impossible to weed through my email inbox. It’s filled with hundreds of self-motivating subject lines like:
2013 will be my most manageable year yet!
A chaos free mind = a chaos free me!
Sorry. That was a copy and paste mistake, but I think you get my meaning. And if it isn’t mail that apparently came from my higher evolved, totally zenned out self from a future dimension, then it was a forward that probably came from my mother, who has seen my desk, closet, pantry and fridge. And it’s likely she’s the one holding the kids until I can see past all my Post It notes—hence the last email title.
There are several others—okay, who am I kidding, there are hundreds of others—all with similar messages:
6 Steps to Realizing Your Resolutions—which I would read if I could remember where I put my list of resolutions.
Conquer Clutter!—another great idea apart from the fact that there’s not enough space to lay out the blueprint for battle plans.
Becoming Minimalist—that’s one of the longest emails I’ve ever read.
Don’t be a Stuffaholic—I bet there’s a support group which meets twice a week (which will eat up all my free time for decluttering)
And it’s not just emails. The messages are coming at me like bullets from all angles.
– I’m in the car and the radio assures me that “Organizing the new you for the new year has never been easier. We’ll send someone to your house to do it FOR YOU!” I switch stations. I’ve already got a mother-in-law.
– I walk into the gym for my yoga class and see message boards in bold and catchy coloring: Make a mindful New Year’s pledge. Find the real you buried beneath all those unnecessary pounds! Apparently, no one realizes the mindful minutes I put into selectively accruing those extra layers. It was deliberately done. It’s winter. Snowshovel? Check. Salt pellets? Check. Purposefully acquired figure of impenetrable, whale-like composition? Oh, yeah. Check.
– Even the dog, who at this point in the year has more hair per square inch of flesh than my 1970’s childhood home’s combined shag carpeting, has been sending not so subtle messages about his much needed spa day and haircut. I find him listening to books on tape instead of pouring over leather-bound tomes in the library.
Yes, I hear the messages. I need to reduce. Maybe I can live without the remainder of my wardrobe from junior high. It’s possible I will never reread all the cards I have received and saved since I was seven years old. I suppose some people draw the line at holding on to Halloween candy dated as ‘Best By 19-something-or-other,’ but it’s truly hard to let go of one’s thrifty nature.
So all I can promise is that I’ll try.
For the good of my family. For the benefit of my dog. For the relief of the Fed Ex guys.
I’ll do it.
Don’t forget to check out what was cookin’ in the Scullery (here) and most importantly this week, be sure to check out the awesome cartoon humor of Robin Gott (here)! He penned the above caricature of me (spitting image by the way), and will be sure to give you a giggle in the pub with his take on styles of kilts across the globe. Check him out!
2 thoughts on “The Oaths We Take, The Rules We Break.”
I can see the mountain of sticky notes cluttering your house now. Thank God the cork cave does not allow them to stick as it’s most likely the only room (tunnel) which may just be note free.
I no longer make New Year’s ressy’s as it’s tough enough just keeping up with my three daughters. Oh wait! I actually did make one; I gave up cleaning their rooms.
Love the pic of Haggis… or his brother. I need one of those pups.
P.s. It’s Soso and Gus’s birthday today. We began the celebration at 4:30am. I need a nap.
I’ve made that same resolution, Steve: I’ve decided to give up cleaning my room! This year I’m only focusing on my desk, but I’ve given it a new title. It’s now my “work bench.” I think this is much more apropos to the efforts that take place on it and the allowable state of dirt and disarray.
A big huge happy birthday hug and kiss to both girls from this side of the screen. Make it sloppy.
Have some coffee and get on with the party, buddy!