Our doorbell rang on the day we got home from our Christmas/New Year’s vacation. A cute little girl stood on the steps with a sheet of paper clutched in her hands and a hopeful smile plastered to her face. I’ll give you three guesses who she was and what she was up to.
Girl Scout Cookies.
Luckily I had not made any food related resolutions this year, and even if I had our sweet little troops in Nashville, Tennessee aren’t selling the gluten free cookies I’ve heard about in super cool states like California. Nonetheless, I couldn’t help but admire the guts it must take these little girls to go house to house like that. Only one week into the new year and they’re knocking on doors like wolves in sheeps’ clothing, for all the world seeming like the little devil on your shoulder as you weigh your resolution against a green box of Thin Mints.
Again, I’m glad I had no reason to say yes to that cute face. My husband didn’t get away quite so easily.
But back to resolutions. Mine was a little different this year. Instead of trying to lose weight, I’m attempting to lose the false identity that’s crept up so stealthily. I care too much about what others say and how strangers perceive me. It’s time to stop caring.
This is my year to get back to my childhood self. The girl who wore bell bottoms when everyone else was sporting high-waisted mom jeans. Who had hair I could sit on when my friends were getting chin-length bobs. Who started a journalism club and created her own magazine.
That much cliched phrase “new year, new you” is just so tired. It isn’t new; in fact, it’s exhausting. Attempting to reinvent yourself each and every year is probably the main reason that so many New Year’s resolutions fall quickly by the wayside.
I’m done with makeovers and potions that promise to transform; instead I’m going to seek out my past and hope that I can erase a few decade’s worth of everyone else’s opinion.