New Year's Resolutions
Years ago, I asked my friend Tess what her New Year’s Resolutions were. “Diligence and moderation,” she said. I laughed. Man. What couldn’t I do with a bit more diligence and a bit more moderation? But that was her resolution—not mine. That's too practical for me. My resolutions are more similar to Philip's. At 12, Philip resolved to learn to do accents. “Oh, yeah? Why accents?” He shrugged. “In case I need one.”
Some years I actually do what I resolved to do: l (slowly) ran a marathon. I read all the books in Asimov’s Robot series and Foundation series in order.
Some years, I don’t: I haven’t written a book. I haven’t learned to tap dance.
Sometimes I make the same resolution year after year. In part, this is because of a lack of diligence and moderation; but sometimes the resolution is too big to accomplish in a single year. (Looking at you, “learn to play piano”!) And sometimes, at its core, a resolution isn’t really a goal to be accomplished, but a dream to be imagined.
December 2020 was the first time in many years that I didn’t make any resolutions. The resolutions I had made going into 2020 seemed laughably naïve. The world felt out of control. I was focused on my family’s health, our physical safety, our unpredictable environment. I lost my ability to dream about anything beyond the end of the pandemic.
Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash
Part of me thinks this is just a reaction to uncertainty. Up until we took our last COVID tests on 12/23, we didn’t know for sure if we were attending the family Christmas Eve party. How do you make plans for a new year if you don’t know what you are doing tomorrow?
But it’s deeper than this, isn’t it? We’ve always had to navigate the unknown, but this pandemic-wrought chaos is different. Abraham Maslow was a psychologist who described human needs as a hierarchy—with basic needs for food and shelter as most fundamental and dreaming and self-improvement at the top of the hierarchy, dependent on getting our more fundamental needs more or less met first. He says that in order to dream—in order to even think about becoming our best selves—we need to be physically safe and unafraid. We need some measure of predictability and order in our environment. We need to feel loved, connected to others, like we belong. If we are used to feeling most connected to others when we spend time together, the things we do to reduce the spread of COVID can keep us from feeling connected to others.
We’re a nation that has lost over 800,000 people. We know people struggling with long COVID: foggy, unable to work, fatigued. We’ve learned that weddings get moved, flights get canceled, schools close. We’ve seen relationships end and hospitals fill to overflowing. It’s no surprise if our brains start drawing our attention back to meeting our needs for security and love and connection and away from imagining our best lives.
In 2022, I will resolve to meet my fundamental needs. I will take care of my body. I’ll work on building my tolerance for uncertainty. I will nurture my relationships, building connections and finding ways to show my love from six feet away. And maybe next year, I can make more plans. Give more hugs. Dream.