New Years Eve. I’ve gone beyond trying to celebrate the end of one year and the start of another. I stopped doing that a few years ago. There is still an expectation that you will use this point in the year to reflect on what was and try to make some adjustments. You know. The dreaded resolution.
A lot of people don’t bother with them. Many try and fail, although I think the statistics show that 40 percent of those who make resolutions will stick with them for six months. Might not seem very high, but when you think of it, it’s not so bad.
I’ve never made New Years resolutions and stuck with them. I promised to quit smoking many times. And didn’t. I vowed to lose weight many times. And didn’t. I was going to exercise more. And didn’t.
Really, I think the incentive just wasn’t there. There didn’t seem to be a good reason for me to stick with those things. I know… they are all things to improve my health, but I was in pretty good shape. Those things weren’t really hurting me.
Then came March 2019. We had a lovely little snowfall very near the first of that month. It was a beautiful day following that snow. Bright and sunny. The kind of day you are happy to shovel and joke with the neighbours as they do the same.
Then, the snow tried to kill me. I know it seems cliche, but I went full cliche with this. I suddenly felt really bad. I argued with my wife that I was not having a heart attack. It was… something else. It must be something else. She insisted it was a heart attack.
She won the argument.
So it wasn’t New Years Eve, but the dawning of March. And I had incentive in the form of doctors and various family members telling me in no uncertain terms that things in my life should change. I also had things in my own body strongly suggesting things should change.
I quit smoking. I lost weight. I’ve been trying to get a bit more exercise. I’m still not going to be sorry to say goodbye to 2019. And I’m not making any more resolutions.
I’m running out of bad habits.
