2020 was a wash, I’ve just deleted last years post and repurposed it to use this year instead. We are pretending it didn’t happen.
I never miss the Jan first post.
I have hope. I am the queen of new year, new me. They’re the only kind of posts I’ve written for the last 4 years. I love deciding to get my shit together, alerting the internet that I’m getting my shit together and then proceeding to not get my shit together. This year I’ve got a shot at a fresh decade, which means I can be 10 times as optimistic and then 10 times as much a failure.
I’ve got a 21 for 2021 list, a 30 before 30 (2023) list and a 20 for the 2020’s list. I have so many lists, so many good intentions. I’m going to get back running again and start stretching. I’m going to journal and meditate. I’m going to read books and drink so much water you wouldn’t believe. By 2022 I’m going to be the most physically and mentally well person on the planet.
All wonderfully aspirational, all probably futile, but a few weeks of guilt does the mind and body good. That’s a thing, right? I think I get a teeny bit better every time I try and I am definitely learning. Last year (Read: 2019), I worked away fine at all my goals. Until I got the flu in March, stopped doing everything for 2 weeks and decided to give up the whole year as a bad job. Looking back, with hind sight, I can tell that that was probably not the right choice. Learning.
Anyhow, until next year, or anytime between now and then when I decide to make a fresh start.