To not care abour resolutions, kettlebels and beach houses, and pursue happiness Lisa Machado

I have never been a New Year’s resolution person. When people would ask for mine, I’d play along, choosing the regulars: to exercise, drink less and call my mother more.

When my kids were young, I started a resolution tradition with a twist. On New Year’s Eve, we would put together a list of what we hoped would happen by the end of the year. Things like reading more books and getting better grades often made the list. Then, subscribing to the theory that if you read your goals every day, your mind makes them happen, I would post the list on the fridge, and at the end of the year we would see what we accomplished.

The list- making ended when my son was 10 and he scribbled the word “poo” all over the paper. When I asked him why, he said, “Mama, I don’t like those lists. They make me sad. Nothing ever happens.” It got me thinking about the consistent No. 2 on my list — to own a beach house somewhere hot. This will probably never happen, yet year after year, I hope. Is that bad? If you ask my mother, the answer is yes. “When you live in hope, you die in despair,” she would say.

But maybe my little guy was on to something. Does expectation-setting New Year’s resolutions kill your chill? Maybe.

I spotted one of my neighbours in the park a few months ago, wearing snazzy pink leggings and hurling a kettlebell to and fro. “This year’s resolution,” she explained breathlessly as I walked by.

A few sessions later, she sat on my porch, dejected, watching the class continue without her.

“If I can’t exercise when a pandemic has me pinned to my house, I am never going to be able to,” she quietly hissed, using her glass of wine to gesture towards the enthusiastic kettlebell tossers. “Or maybe you are, but the time just isn’t right,” I said.

Then our grumpy 80- something male neighbour walked by. “Who cares?” he said.

Well, she cares, I guess. I care too, that the amount of exercise, alcohol and calls to my mother are pretty much the same as pre-2020. And while I am not OK with it, 2021 is a new year. But I won’t be cluttering it up with hopeful resolutions. Instead, I’ll be looking to amp up my happy. Instead of talking about all the ways we can make ourselves better, my kids and I will be focusing on ways to be kinder, doing more of what makes us smile and letting the burden of expectation go.

Because if this brutal year has taught us anything, it is that the little things matter the most.