I was quite small when I learned that I was supposed to go the New Year with a set of resolutions guaranteed to make improvements, physically and mentally. The idea intrigued me. Just think, by choosing the right goals and sticking to them, in one year I would be a better person!

            Most likely my early resolutions were designed to keep me out of trouble. Things like keeping my mouth shut and staying out of trouble. While I was not what you would consider a bad kid, I had a tendency, only at home, to speak up in defense of myself when falsely accused of something most likely done by one of my siblings.    

I didn’t understand that resolutions should be achievable, so I chose goals so high, so difficult, that there was no way I could accomplish them.

            I remember a rocky period in my life when I had recently turned fourteen. At that time, I shared a room with my younger sister, the slob. She’d never make her bed or pick up her dirty clothes. Her half of the room was a complete mess while I was expected to keep my side neat as a pin, as my mother said.

I ignored the mess as much as I could, until the piles got to big and I made the mistake of yelling at my sister.

She wasn’t the one who got in trouble. When she tattled, my mother stormed into the bedroom and informed me it was my responsibility to keep the entire room clean. I spouted off some complaint about the unfairness of the demand and so my mother took away my radio. That I had bought with my one money.

New Year’s was approaching, and since I was still angry, I promised myself I’d sit in my room and keep quiet. I truly believed that I’d be able to keep this resolution as it meant I’d be out of sight, out of mind.

            Of course, it didn’t work. Instead of calming me down, my insides churned with suppressed rage. I reminded myself, over and over when I’d be accused of doing whatever, to keep my mouth shut, but the unjustness caused me to explode and then my punishment would be increased.

            As I grew older and supposedly wiser, I chose resolutions that should have been doable. For example, losing weight. I was tired of being the fattest girl on campus. I was motivated and so watched not just what I ate, but how much. I walked as much as possible, even on cold and rainy days. But when not a single pound fell off, I gave up, considering myself a failure yet again.

            In time I learned that I was incapable of sticking to resolutions and so gave up. In one of my teaching-preparation classes, I learned about self-fulling prophecies. If I told myself I would fail, then I would. What I never embraced was that if I believed I’d succeed, then I would.

            To this day I do not choose resolutions, even though there are many that would be good for me. Instead of dooming myself to repeated failure, I avoid the tradition altogether.

            Resolutions are just not for me.