I’m not a fan of the resolution. What’s an eating disorder if not a series of failed resolutions? Day in and day out, promises you don’t keep. Broken promises to the self are hard on the soul.

I ran into the same problem with smoking. I resolved to quit thousands of times. Resolutions didn’t get me there. Not smoking anymore got me there.

Rather than ringing in the new year with resolutions, I choose themes. The year of bravery, the year of boundaries, the year of grace, and so on. I try to make them inspirational, and I try to pick a word that will promote personal growth. I choose something I need to work on, though something new is my preference. Otherwise, it’ll be the year of boundaries ‘til I die.

This is perhaps my least favourite year, and that’s saying something: I’ve had some bad ones. To be honest, things started sucking in 2019 and they haven’t really stopped. The pandemic is just icing on the lousy cake.

It’s been mountains of upsets, pain, and fear. It’s been nothing but triggers, it seems. I feel proud of myself for holding the line on my eating disorder recovery – mostly. I feel proud about not picking up nic sticks again.

There were a lot of good reasons to quit quitting. The old me is irritated at the waste. What’s the point of having perfectly valid justifications for bad behaviour if you’re not going to use them?

This isn’t to say I’ve been perfect. I’m as capable of being small and petty as the next person. And there’s much I could’ve done better. I’ve wallowed and gone to ground over slings and arrows, real or perceived. I have also, on occasion, cultivated that sense of entitled grievance our species seems so prone to.

The world and everyone in it should be nicer to me. I’m pretty sure they’re supposed to agree with me at all times as well. I think I heard that mentioned in grade school once. I know it would make my life infinitely easier.

I suspect, however, that once again that’s not how this year will play out.

Reality can be such a downer.

And that bit about us not being the centre of the universe? Insult to injury. It makes the periodic retreats feel, well, a little pointless, paralyzing depression notwithstanding. What’s the point of hiding if no one’s coming to find me?

Rescue doesn’t happen for us as adults as often as we hope or need.

“Rescue” would therefore be a bad word of the year unless I’m planning to do something proactive in the area of animal welfare beyond donations.

I’m not.

Have you watched Disney’s “Meet the Robinsons?” You should – it’s one of their best. Two bits, in particular, speak to me.

The first resonates because I’m impulsive. Dangerously impulsive at times. I once nearly rolled a fireplace on top of myself trying to slide it down a staircase. With me in front of it because where else would you stand? I was saved by its size – it got wedged as it rolled.  It’s the only thing that saved me from hospitalization. It’s not the first time. But I have a big head and little arms, and my plans are too often not thought through.

The dangers of unthinking impulsivity are one of the movie’s themes. The big one, however, is what my theme for this year is going to be. If I can accomplish it, I’ll be well satisfied next New Year’s Eve.

“Around here, however, we don’t look backwards for very long. We keep moving forward, opening up new doors and doing new things… and curiosity keeps leading us down new paths.”

Keep moving forward. Keep the momentum going. Move forward mentally, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. That’s the way we find new paths.

I’m reminded of another movie quote, this time from the zombie apocalypse funfest that is “World War Z” – “Movement is life.  I’ve been in dangerous places.  Those who survived, move.”

Stagnation is a choice. Dogmatism is a choice. I’ve found, however, that they don’t get me where I want to go.

2023 – keep moving forward. ^[i]

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^[i] Post one of we’ll see how many I do. I’m doing Bloganuary again – last year I skipped weekends. We’ll see how this year plays out.

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