My Slate Stays Dirty

When I arrived at the gym yesterday morning, I didn't need a calendar to tell me that a new year had started. The child watch room was packed to capacity and every available treadmill was being used, which to me signals that everyone has made new year's resolutions to get their flabby butts in shape. So as I waited patiently for my turn on an elliptical machine, I fought the urge to get frustrated and tried to comfort myself with the knowledge that in two months the gym will go back to being deserted at 10am in the morning as all these well-intentioned resolutions are forgotten.

Which is why I don't make new year's resolutions. I love the concept of a "clean slate" we all award ourselves in a new year - the idea that with a new calendar we can shake off our old ways and become brand-new, habit-free individuals. But it seems to me that we are simply setting ourselves up for failure. Whether it is a resolution to be thinner, smarter, smoke-free, or better rested, we seem to place more emphasis on the resolution itself than the actual work it will take to accomplish our goals. Then, when the work involved with trying to be thinner or smarter or smoke-free becomes harder than turning the page on the calendar, we give up. And wait for the next new year to try and "start over" again. So I skip the whole process and deny myself a "clean slate" on January 1.

I'm not saying there aren't some things I need to work on in terms of personal growth. But over the past few months (turning 30 will mess with your head a bit) I've reevaluated some of my old goals. I've just felt out of balance - you know that nagging feeling that something internally (I'm speaking mentally and emotionally, not digestively) is out of whack. Strangely enough, a random decision to catch an afternoon yoga class the week before Christmas sparked an "Aha!" moment that allowed me to put my finger on at least one culprit of my inbalance.

There's a 12:30pm yoga class on Wednesday afternoons that I never get to because that's typically smack in the middle of Casey's nap. Rob was off the week before Christmas, so I decided to capitalize on it and sneak off to yoga with the idea that an hour spent stretching would serve me well in the middle of all the crazy running I had been doing in order to get shopping, cooking, etc finished. The instructor was running late and I was silently regretting coming to class and contemplating hopping on a treadmill instead in an effort to burn some last minute pre-Christmas calories. When he finally arrived, I could tell right away he was one of those "touchy-feely" yogies that was going to ask us to align our mind-soul center and balance our chakras or some other hooey. I read a quote from Julia Roberts one time in which she said, "I don't want yoga to change my life, I just want it to change my ass." and I pretty much prescribe to that theory myself. I think of it as a good workout that doesn't make my knees hurt. Anyway, we got started and he started talking us through the positions, and I'm mainly tuning him out and focusing on not falling on my head during "triangle pose", and then he said something that stopped me cold in my triangle. In an effort to get us to concentrate on the pose instead of focusing on how our muscles felt like they were about to implode, he said, "Make peace with your body". Aha! What an extrordinary concept. His words rang through my head for the rest of the afternoon as I slowly realized that I had been waging a silent war with my body for the better part of 16 years. I could barely remember a time from young adulthood on when I looked in the mirror and didn't find fault with something. Legs too flabby. Arms too skinny. Hair too straight. Not quite smart enough for the job. Not enough patience to be a good mom. And so on and so on. I realized I was exhausted from all the internal fighting. I started looking at what my body had accomplished. It has successfully completed a dozen or so triathlons. It managed to graduate college and gain employment and even a few promotions. And most importantly it created and nurtured and nourished a new life. I see many of my friends and family waging similar little battles, but when I look at them all I see is strength and beauty and intelligence. Why couldn't I see these characteristics in myself? Suddenly I wondered what all the fighting was for.

So if I made new year's resolutions, then I guess mine would be to make a peace treaty with myself. I suppose that is really the anti-resolution - to decide to not work on losing weight or being smarter or any of those old goals and to just do the best I can, every day, and being satisfied with the results. So this year my slate stays dirty, and for the first time in a long time, that is just fine with me.