Mirror, Mirror

New Year—New You

“You got this, bro. Just buy my course with four easy payments of $199.99. And don’t forget your sneakers with magic air.”

Promises

The new year brings the opportunity for rebirth and absolution.

Resolutions are made.

Declarations are broadcast publicly to convince others that the declarer will finally be re-sol-ute in the coming year. Strangers are informed of private, internal, psychological struggles with the intent to finally realize self-actualization. The accounting ledgers of fitness centers are the greatest beneficiaries of this vulnerable custom.

The Latin origin of resolution is resolūtus, a conjunction of re = “back, again” and solvere = “to loosen, untie, release, dissolve,” and originally meant to loosen something back to its elements—to break it apart so it can be settled or decided.

A New Year’s resolution could mean:

“I have untied myself from contradiction and indecision. I am settled.”

In practice, none of this occurs, as there is no completion or clarity, but a verbal declaration to oneself, more often regarding a habit or behavior one struggles to settle. It’s an admirable, seasonal recipe for failure, yet people resolve to make these indecisive resolutions anyway, year after year.

At the start of the fake new year, in the dead of winter, when everything is hibernating, people endeavor to conquer their past selves by the mere flip of a Gregorian calendar.

What the masses were incapable of accomplishing on December 30, they will be keen to start to resolve on the second day of January, after spending the first day recovering from a brain-smashing hangover.

They will resolve to promise themselves (and increasingly perfect strangers) that they will stick with something they weren’t able to do in any month of the previous calendar year.

Re-so-lute.

This is akin to the alcoholic walking into a mood-lit cantina at happy hour, while telling himself he’s just there for the conversation and ambiance, and will be home after one glass of sparkling water with lemon.

I overheard this alcoholic man inside the convenience store of a gas station a few days into the new year speaking loudly into his dumbphone: “I’m so damn excited about this opportunity, honey. It feels good to view sobriety as a daily, positive, and uplifting adventure, instead of a chore or a job with high stakes.”

Thinking back to twenty years earlier, the last time I’d spent any significant time in the country, I couldn’t remember Americans being so loud and public about their vices and private struggles.

I glanced down at his young daughter perusing the candy aisle, then back up at the man who wanted every stranger inside this Circle K to know his cause and pursuit.

Was he speaking to his wife, himself, or a family judge he’s having an affair with?

Custody woes?

AA Tokens.

Candy for the kid. Word candy for the wife.

Re-so-lute.