Oh, hello. It's been quite a long time since you heard from me, eh? Well, what can I say except, shit happens.
Shit like Thanksgiving and Christmas.
Shit like a very sick dog who won't stop killing off her own red blood cells.
Shit like, when I'm not sitting in the vet's office, spending every living weekend driving Big Man and Little Man all over the tri-state area to play ice hockey.
Geographically speaking, that's New York, New Jersey and Connecticut. But then there's the interplanetary travel to Long Island.
What??? You're telling me that Long Island is part of New York?
Well, you spend three entire periods freezing your ass off at an ice hockey game in the company of chanting Long Island parents. I'm not talking about a random "Go Team!" I have witnessed these people make like a squad of cheerleaders and shout in unison stuff that actually rhymes.
Sprinkle in some horns and cow-bells and a generous helping of fights with the opposing team's parents and then tell me these people are NOT from another planet.
It's no wonder I haven't been able to blog for a while. Rec-league hockey has scarred me for life.
But enough about that. It's a new year and with it comes new beginnings. That's what New Year's resolutions are for, right?
For some reason, as 2009 drew to a close, resolutions weren't even on my radar screen. In fact, it was only until the magazine headlines at the supermarket check-out caught my eye did it register that it was the season for resolutions.
Glancing at the standard fare about busting belly flab and nicotine patches, etc., it dawned on me that, for the first time in my life, I hadn't given even one millimeter of brain space to making any resolutions.
"Why is that?" I wondered. Then, in the dingily lit interior of my suburban A&P, it hit me like a lightening bolt. My lack of resolution-making wasn't because I was forgetful. It wasn't because I was perfect. It wasn't because I was a resolution rebel. It was because I was old.
Okay. Not that old. But after forty-something years, I guess I've finally accumulated enough history, enough experience, enough knowledge about myself to realize something about New Year's resolutions. They don't work for me.
With this eureka moment came a feeling of complete and utter freedom! If accompanied by a soundtrack it would have been the Hallelujah chorus. No longer would New Year's Eve usher in a bunch of self-imposed shoulds and then, a week later, the disappointment, self-loathing and sense of failure from not living up to these expectations.
It was almost as if I could feel all these musts and have to's whooshing out of my body then vaporizing into thin air. And all that remained was me. Just me. With enough room to see that I already do plenty of stuff that's good for me.
Take flossing, for instance. I can say with all honesty that I floss every night.
But it wasn't always this way. I was a reluctant flosser. When having to choose between flossing or laying my head down on my pillow two minutes sooner, I always went with the latter.
Then, during a dentist visit, my hygienist told me that if I didn't start flossing, drastic measures would have to be taken. In the form of multiple shots of Novocain and a "deep cleaning." Which I learned was a euphemism for digging and scraping under my gum line with sharp, pointy, metal implements.
You'd think that would be enough to instantly change my ways. Actually, I did start to floss a little more regularly. Just enough to avoid any dental jack-hammering.
But it took a while to change. There were nights when I had to force myself to floss. Other times I'd skip it completely. Then I'd get on a roll and floss for a month straight. Then, for no apparent reason, I'd fall off the wagon.
And then a funny thing happened. I started NOT to like the way my mouth felt if I hadn't flossed. It got to the point where, if there was even one microscopic morsel of errant food wedged between my teeth, I wasn't able to rest until it was banished by my trustworthy Deep-Clean Glide.
Now, I'm a regular flosser. Sometimes I even floss after every meal. But my transformation from flossing slacker to flossing fanatic didn't happen overnight. There were no champagne-induced proclamations during some New Year's Eve party and then, presto chango, I was a flosser.
Okay. My sincere apologies if all this falls under the "too much information" category. Here's my point. My pre-New Year's epiphany at the A&P doesn't mean I'm anti-New Year's resolutions. On the contrary. I'm all for self-betterment. What I've learned is this. Change doesn't happen simply by the clock striking midnight. No mater how you slice it, change is freaking hard.
