Does anyone else feel the concept of New Years and all its entanglements are like religion: something humankind has just pulled out of its collective ass to make itself feel better? It’s arbitrary. Proof being that every culture has a different one. We like to make lists and resolutions, hoping (most of us) that each year we’ll do better, be better somehow, and the fact that we can all get on board with this insanity at the same time—once a year mind you—somehow brings us all together. Doesn’t that seem crazy?I admit, certain years, I’ve made resolutions and declared that “this year will be my best one yet”. It sounds good. It sounds possible. And when you get millions of people behind it, it even feels possible. But all around me, as the year rolls on, what I see are most people’s hopes and dreams for the new year slowly corrode away until they’re a mere shadow of what they were, or they just fade away completely. Either our hopes are too big or we’re not disciplined enough to follow through on them or maybe the whole fucking concept is just humanly impossible (e.g. crazy). We’re basically animals. We should be living in the now. Eat. Poop. Sleep. Reproduce. Basic. Just because our massive brains have figured some shit out doesn’t change that fact. So why have hopes, dreams, and resolutions begin 1/365? Why such a big, insurmountable chunk? What’s wrong with hopes, dreams, and goals for the week? Or better yet, the day? I know, crazy huh? Maybe we could actually achieve something if we broke it down like that. Maybe we could look back at the end of a year and see the hundreds of mini-dreams that we made possible, rather than plan for one or two really big things that almost always fade as the year progresses. Maybe it’s both? I bet the hundreds of little goals and resolutions that we could create and actually conquer every week or every day would add up to something big in the end. But it would be broken down and digestible; ready-made-packaged for easy consumption.
That’s what I’m going to try and focus on: New Years every day. Mini-dreams. The sum of all parts. Who’s with me?