No Bellies, Boobs, or Butts
How did you spend New Year’s Eve?
At 10:30PM on the last day of 2015, I snuggled up with tea and a cheesy romance novel. My protagonists just came home from an exciting day of vampire-ing, illegal blood spillage, and civilians revolting.
And, within moments, tears turned steamy in Bill’s deluxe hot tub.
Oh, Bill—you dark mysterious cad.
While friends became intoxicated by liquor and lofty ambitions, I enjoyed a quiet holiday.
Just Me, a ‘good’ (debatable) read, and a bedtime buddy who I was temporarily dog-sitting.
As I flicked-off the lights, the nagging thoughts of ‘resolutions’ persisted.
Do I have a resolution? Should I?
As I read the salacious, necrophilic play between Sookie and Bill, my mind drifted.
Oh … there’s a book in my hands. I was reading that.
Ah, but ‘tis the season for resolving ourselves to brag-worthy bellies, boobs, and butts.
Perhaps a vice of good fortune/‘talent’, perhaps my personality, but … I tend not to set New Year’s goals. My ‘growing experiences’ happen spontaneously.
I discover my wants by accident.
I experience calls for change as moments necessitate.
These don’t come without their trials—I have come a long way since last year.
-I am more confident in expressing my wants, my dislikes, and my discomforts.
-I actively arrange gatherings with friends when loneliness beckons (woah!).
-I’ve learned (and continue to learn) life lessons when my personal filter butts heads with others’ perspectives.
-I engage in a daily gratitude practice.
That’s pretty darn impressive! (And I celebrate myself. I have my modest moments, too!)
I’m going to begin the New Year with being content. If adversity bears its fangs at me, I’ll grab the proverbial stake and garlic to meet it head first. Or try to make a friend, because I have been exercising more open communication.
Step aside, Stackhouse!