So…… have you broken any New Years Resolutions yet?
Perhaps you are too clever to make them. I, on the other hand, am self-absorbed and big on self-improvement: I make some every single year.
And break them, because it’s traditional. And there’s so much decent food, drink, TV and good company around in January that it would arguably be rude not to. Which is a shame, because I love the idea of a new, fresh year. It’s like a field of perfect snow awaiting a single neat line of perfect footprints……
I would have preferred, here, to find a stock photo showing the footprints disappearing into a massive, concealed pond. On the other side of the pond would be a muddy mess where I climbed out – with clod-hopping, muddy, bloody footprints limping away.
Familiar TV is easiest on my poor brain, hence I’m watching the DVDs of Call The Midwife. To my horror, the character I most identify with is suddenly Sister Monica Joan. If you don’t watch, she’s the senile elderly nun. When there are biscuits involved she’s remarkably astute, but often she’s away with the fairies.
I don’t want to identify with Monica-Joan, but I don’t have much in common with Trixie:
Trixie wouldn’t go to people’s houses and say: ‘Have we come here for dinner or are we supposed to be going home?’
She wouldn’t ask after people who’ve died, or avoid asking after people in case they’ve died, which I do now. I worry about calling people by the wrong name and wince when I ask questions in case they’ve already told me the answer. I’ve occasionally voiced opinions only to realize half-way through that they haven’t actually been my opinions for years. I’ve disagreed with plans that five minutes before, I had been enthusiastically advocating.
However, unlike Sister Monica-Joan, my prognosis is good and I’m fast improving. A few months ago I would not have remembered the events in the previous paragraph, but now it’s surprising what comes back, with rumination. Lost memories suddenly pop into my head from nowhere, like answers to cryptic crossword clues…….
I wish (about cryptic crossword clues). But anyway, I had a train of thought going.
Resolutions. Tracks in 2018s snow-field.
I’m won’t be aiming for perfect footprints. Think, mud and slush, and a lot of doubling back. The odd mess in the snow where I fall over, forget what I’m doing and make a snow-angel.
Had I resolved to leave perfect footprints, the resolution would be broken by now. There have been days when I haven’t managed to leave the house; a run where I completely forgot to take hypo-sweets and another where I forgot I was running to a set place to meet my family, and went on a different run instead.
But I knew in advance not to pick anything too results-focused. The tracks might suddenly run up to a brick wall; that’s got to be okay. They can always come to a complete stop, double back on themselves and run at the wall again, and get over it this time, and into another field.
But what metaphorical wall or snow-field to choose? What direction did I want to go? It’s hard to know what to focus on when you feel useless and have poor memory. How the hell should I go about making resolutions?
There were so many ways in which I wanted to be better. I flitted about like an untrained springer spaniel amongst pheasants, undecided which one to chase until all of them had got away.
It’s my leading characteristic, you see. I’m the sort of person who likes to juggle lots of balls in the air, rather than throwing any particular ball very high. Yet I needed to choose just one ball and build up…..
A few days in, I picked exercise. When I’m working, I always moan that I don’t get enough. I spent January prioritizing running and yoga. I’m getting fitter and that’s nice.
But my blood sugar keeps ballsing up, so that’s February taken care of: exercise with better blood sugars. Except that I’m sick to the back teeth of yelling at the kids – i don’t believe in it and it’s making me miserable. And I keep changing my mind as to which one is most important (good blood sugar equals better mood with the kids, you see). Perhpas I’ll try both at the same time.
SO that’s February and March: continue the exercise, and conquer sugar and shouting. Focus on both of them together.
As for April…..
…….Oh, bugger April.
One or two muddy footprints at a time.
My Body, My Own 