Waste money on pasta makers, ice cream machines or other culinary devices which will never use; books by unreadable literary authors to put impressively on shelves; exotic underwear, since pointless as have no boyfriend.
Behave sluttishly around the house but instead imagine others are watching.
Spend more than earn.
Allow in-tray to rage out of control.
Fall for any of the following: alcoholics, workaholics, commitment phobics, people with girlfriends or wives, misogynists, megalomaniacs, chauvinists, emotional fuckwits or freeloaders, perverts.
Mamamia readers who were over the age of 12 in 1996 will recognise the above as the first half of Bridget Jones’s list of new years resolutions. Her ‘I WILL’ list is even more hilarious and – and even more unachievable.
It’s all too much, too hard and too ridiculous to think any human being can change so fundamentally, at a time of year awash with wine, sales, parties, certifiable families, chips and chocolate. Which is why I love Bridget so much. There are few people who fail more spectacularly at New Years Resolutions than I do, so when I meet one – even a fictional one – I clutch her to my bosom. And now, because I have grown up, and Bridget remains thirty-something I want to share with her something I have discovered:
The micro-resolution.
Kate Hunter
It is completely genius and v.v.good because unlike the old-fashioned macro-resolution, my micro-resolution is keepable. And if it proves not to be, it’s so tiny no one will notice and your won’t feel you’ve fallen that far. You can always give it another crack. Possibly in May.
My micro-resolution this year is to place keys and sunglasses on the hall table on arrival at home.
That’s it.
Small, but like an ant, disproportionately powerful when it comes to improving the quality of my life.
Sure, I could lose ten kilos, learn Indonesian, write a novel and take an active interest in my superannuation; but not one of those things could bring me the calm that comes with knowing where my keys and glasses are at any given time.
My husband and children are enthusiastic supporters of my micro-resolution, as it will make a big change to their world as well. No more fear, no more blame, no more lateness to footy training. There will be peace and harmony as we depart the house. In one silken movement I’ll walk past the hall table, grasp keys and glasses without looking, and we’ll be on our way.
The only problem with the micro-resolution concept (in my case, anyway) is selecting one. The list is long and my family was annoyingly helpful in compiling a list of options. They included:
• Write a shopping list. This will avoid expensive trips the 7 Eleven and/or boiled eggs for dinner.
• Close cupboard doors and drawers. This will save the panic that comes with thinking we’ve been burgled.
• Plan meals on a weekly basis to avoid that 6pm trip to 7 Eleven (see point one)
• Read school notices on daily basis and action them immediately. This will mean fashioning a costume for Book Week parade won’t mean a Sunday night trip to (frighteningly organised) sister’s house for Harry Potter cloak, wand and sticky-taped glasses).
• Attend to work before fart-arsing around on Facebook / Twitter.
• Charge mobile phone daily.
• Place hands free home phone on charger when not in use.
• Purchase petrol before orange light flashes.
• Do not rely on memory for times and places of childrens’ parties / play dates / sporting fixtures but diarise in diary.
At that point I called ‘STOP! I GET IT.’ Then I began compiling a list of micro resolutions my husband and kids might consider; beginning with ‘Don’t laugh at mummy when she loses her keys.’ Not that it will happen this year.
