With New Year’s resolutions, I am not one to dally. Sure, I make seriously solemn vows of change
and repair, but not for the New Year. To me time does not start over on January 1st. That’s straight up made up…a complete
and utter fabrication. I hear proclamations such as, “I’m so DONE with 2009! Bring on 2010”. Well, what is “2009”
and “2010”?
We concentrate on a starting point randomly chosen in an apparently elliptical orbit of a planet
around a star. We try so hard to make our concept of a year fit into the chaotic reality of that planetary orbit, but never
ever succeed. We have leap years to try to fix it. It remains broken. Joint hallucination, it seems, doesn’t make the
universe conform to that idea of “2009”, “2010” or really any number.
So these resolutions made for an imaginary moment, what of them? We hold rulers and protractors against
the universe and ourselves comparing collected data with some conjured up ideal. Perhaps it starts with one’s clothing. It’s
not new enough, in style enough, or quite plainly, enough.
Then, maybe, it moves to one’s body. Suppose it’s not thin and muscular enough. Maybe the hair is
too long, falling out, or just in the wrong place. And those teeth…are they blazing white and wonderfully straight?
Suppose the measuring trickles into your finances and possessions. Does the heft of your bank account
inspire you to leave your ATM receipts at the machine for the next person to find, envy, and admire? Does that shiny car really
sum up your fiscal health for all to see?
What exactly is this ideal we’re resolving to be more like? What put it into our heads to be
dissatisfied with our current state of being, our possessions, our wealth, or even our own bodies?
If you pay attention to what this dissatisfaction has to say, you’ll only
find deviance in your person. I was reading an article the other day that described Albert Einstein and Isaac Newton as having
Asperger’s Syndrome which is on the Autistic Spectrum. So we’ve gone to the point of labeling genius as an ailment. I suppose
then there’s an ailment for us all. If everyone’s sick, what is healthy?
Really though, we’re each a mutation on top of a huge pile of previous mutations. As population grows
so grows the permutations and lessens the strength of ideas such as common, average, and ideal. As paradoxical as it sounds,
possibly our only common link is our propensity for individuality. Certainly there is human limitation. I haven’t yet met
someone capable of breathing underwater or lifting the Empire State Building. These limitations help define humanity as a
whole, but it’s still difficult to point to the ideal human. No two of us are completely alike. The number of possible permutations
must be close to infinity and there is no midpoint in infinity. Goodbye ideal.
So before resolving to be something more imaginary, might I suggest to strengthen the real you. Focus
on your freak. Put some organic soil around its base and place it where it can soak up some sun. Remove the ruler attempting
to measure its growth, and be certain to water it daily. Maybe don’t wait for that imaginary first day of January. Try this
new day, this new moment, or this new breath to put aside the longings to be the same and really pay attention to the parts
that make you the only you.
Nothing measures up. It never will. Let’s drop the ruler and move on.
