Happy New Year folks! So as I kick off this brand spanking new year I’m thinking wow, did I ever drop the blog ball in 2018. Well I think I dropped many balls, but that sounds dirty so continuing on…

Yuckily there were many reasons it sucked, my mom’s health deteriorated immensely, dealing with her mortality and the future can be super hard and life altering on a magnitude I can’t even describe. Subsequently my own mental health was in the crapper because of it, awesome. I struggled with body issues, financial roadblocks, a few addictions, lack of motivation, lack of inspiration, lack of self worth, I mean, you get the picture of the lovely multi-fecta of crappiness. 

I stopped writing, quit guitar lessons, ended my running routines which was in part due to terrible knees so a little out of my control, and I lacked any sort of motivation to overachieve at my job. Most yucky was the declining health of Clifford the wonder dog, Freshly Hatcheds’ most valued employee. I mean look at this stud…

So yeah, I’m really happy to say fuck you 2018, let’s try this again.

Which is the perfect segue into my actual point here which is that because all these gross things culminated my yuck year, I began to get sucked into the resolution train wreck. The pressure to organize and plan and work out and get my life on track was yelling at me every time I opened a social media hub. I mean, it’s great to have goals, good on you, but let’s be absolutely clear here people, resolutions are the fucking worst.

The WORST.

No wait, the FUCKING WORST.

The January dieters, which (side note) produced a fantastic quote from an over packed salad bar in NY that I will always think fondly of:

“You guys can go f–k yourselves!” one very hangry businessman in a Patagonia puffer vest was overheard telling his colleagues at lunchtime on Thursday, as he ditched the 100-plus-long line at Chopt on West 51st Street, between Sixth and Seventh avenues.

For the full article: https://nypost.com/2019/01/03/lines-for-salads-out-of-control-after-eat-healthy-resolutions/

The pop up ads for gyms, meal plans, 30 day get fit guides, fat burning shakes, sobriety month (this is most vexing), the purging of your possessions, organizing your house, excelling at your job, the excessive goal setting that basically means your current life is shit. It’s a jungle out there people and very easy to get sucked into. Believe me, I get sucked in ALL THE TIME.

Opening Facebook on January 1 is like sticking your tongue to a pole in the winter. It’s awful, it’s painful and yet I can’t tear myself away. All the barfy #blessed moments, the beautiful family pics that make you ponder whether your own kids are demonic entities because they will never smile like a normal human being or wear clothes that do not make them look homeless. 

It’s exhausting and frankly I’m so over it. 

Oh and let’s not get started on all the amazing ‘activities’ people accomplished over the holidays: the skating under the stars, the ski trips, the super fun excursions to the ROM or the aquarium. 

For the record, I took my kids to the AGO and it wasn’t a total loss but let me be very clear that it would have been a hell of a lot more fun without having to promise the guard that yes they will stop touching the paintings, and apologizing to the patrons when your kids continually yell BUTT and BOOBS in a fit of laughter each time they see a nude sculpture. 

And then there are the people who posted shots of themselves running or working out on New Years Day. Hold up folks. Stop. Just stop. The rest of us are hungover and grumpy and do not need to read that you ran 10k. Like good for you but moving forward let’s keep it on the DL on the most sacred of hungover days.

So at the end of all of this, I did set a goal. Yes, I know, the blasphemy! I set the goal of chilling the fuck out. If I want to eat a brownie for breakfast, I will. If I want to do yoga, I will. If I notice that my dress size is inching up a little, I’ll buy a new dress. Now I know this is easier said then done, but in those moments that I doubt myself, or my self worth, I’m going to remind myself that I am actually old now and therefore I can do whatever the fuck I want. Boom.