It’s New Year’s Day. Happy Hangover!
In the spirit of making New Year’s resolutions that we will probably not be committed to, I’ve decided to try a different approach to something that I love. I’ve been neglecting my blog like most people are going to neglect their gym memberships in February. (Oh look, a New Year’s gym joke..see what I did there?) Even though I’d like to sit here and tell you everything was as easy as pie, which I’d like to point out is a weird phrase because no one except my grandmother has ever made that look easy…this year was tough as shit.
I’ve had to come to terms with the fact that my deepest and most poisonous form of self sabotage is procrastination. I know exactly what I want my life to look like, but the fear underlying my ability to take big risks cloaks itself in the subtle sneakiness of postponement. It breathes in the humming of my laptop, the ringing bells of social media notifications, unhealthy junk food that’s shitty for me, men who are probably even shittier for me, and a long list of other easy distractions that serve to do nothing but keep me docile. I’ve spent so much of my year being afraid and distracting myself from the fear that my writing isn’t good enough for some of the publications I’d love to be a contributor for, or that I’m running out of time to bring my dreams to fruition, or that I might fail and look stupid.
Well, fuck that.
My New Year’s resolution is to write the way that I actually want to; a way that mimics how I speak and in my uncensored messages to my friends, with crude humor about terrible sex fails, post night-of-drinking- hungover ramblings, anxiety loop struggles, and my ability to score free haircuts making me feel as though I’m actually winning at life. I want to write about the day-to-day goings-on of my actual, beautifully fucked-up existence, not the highlights of sepia-toned Instagram photos that only serve as filtered, one-dimensional representations of who I actually am and what I’m truly feeling. Who is posting their “I’m having an anxiety attack about making a large life decision” photo? What about their “PMS-I’m-breaking-out” photo? Or maybe the first sixteen hilarious and unflattering selfies they took in order to find one sans the double chin? I want to see more of those, and I want to post more of them, because they’re hilarious…but more importantly, they’re real.
This year, I will do everything in my power to be as honest and authentic as I can be in spite of fear. I will try to document the actual, as it happens rather than sporadic five-hundred word posts that depict a big realization I’ve come to, after six months of trial and error and four am drunk texts to my girlfriends about the weird sonnets the guy at the bar was shout-whispering into my ear.
I will commit to writing regularly because it helps me sort through the craziness bouncing off of the walls inside my brain and because I feel passion and connection through the words that pour out. I want to write tons of shit and send it to anyone who will read it, hoping that eventually they’ll pick me up because they actually think that I’m talented, or just because I’m so persistent and annoying they give me a shot just to make me shut the fuck up and keep their inboxes free from position inquiries. I want to do yoga all of the time, all over the place, perfecting hand stands and inversions like the people I see doing it in public and judge them as douchebags. (I want to be one of those douchebags). I want to buy an awesome new car that will sometimes double as a second home, or sex palace, or changing room, enabling me to visit faraway friends and family. I want to take care of my body and love her the way she deserves, with farmer’s market veggies, and energy work, and bubble baths…or not bubble baths because they’re the quickest way to a horrible yeast infection. But hey, it’s a great thought.
This year, my resolution is choosing to love myself enough to believe that I am worthy of the things that I desperately want in my life. It’s choosing to no longer allow fear to shame me, lie to me, or rob me of my ability to manifest my potential into something beautiful. It’s having that last slice of pizza because I want to, and because it tastes good, and because fuck it, I’m fabulous.
This year, I hope you choose to realize that you’re fabulous too.