This year I didn’t make resolutions. I didn’t write a list of goals. I didn’t even pretend this would be the year I change my make-up regimen and wear something other than Cover Girl (Yearly goal since 1998. I know, I know, I am almost forty. No lecturing, please).
I just didn’t want to. This fall proved to be a weird combination of extreme highs and lows.
Honestly, I felt burned out, and what I wanted to do was discover more podcasts. Yes, podcasts. Think radio shows of 2015. They help me do the dishes better. When I am listening to podcasts, I take my time with the dishes and actually rinse the peanut butter off of our spoons. Rinsing peanut butter off spoons lessens the chance I will have to hear my husband say, “Amy, Do you think the hardened peanut butter on those spoons will be scrubbed off by magical elves who live in the dishwasher?”
My answer? Maybe, but I digress.
Listening to more podcasts felt like too much of a commitment so I bailed on that idea, but while standing firm in the Land of No Resolutions and what looked like the beginning of a commitment problem, I started something strange.
Celebrating.
This is something I didn’t plan, but something I will certainly continue.
I’m celebrating events that actually warrant celebrating (friendships) and events that happen daily, and I just don’t notice (waking up on a Monday).
This is the kind of celebrating that doesn’t come with fretting and planning. It comes from seeing and recognizing.
It’s Monday. Let’s celebrate with smoothies for breakfast. Did it on Monday, and then on Tuesday, and then on Wednesday.
A new week, a reason to celebrate.
It’s Friday. I should forget about work, and instead, drive into the mountains, hike up a steep hill, sit quietly in my gray puffy coat, and stare at the sky as it turns pink. Did it and without guilt.
A new day, a reason to celebrate.
It’s a week before my oldest gets braces. We should invite a bunch of twelve-year-old girls over for popcorn party, and we should give them less than twenty-four hours of notice (hi, they are twelve. How much notice do they need?). The party should include limbo, a make-shift, American Ninja Warrior course, and canned dog food flavored jelly beans. Did it, and I can still hear the giggling.
A new stage in life, a reason to celebrate.
The weather was ten degrees higher than normal. I should pump up the tires on the bikes, declare it Neighborhood Bike Day and watch kids wear our road thin. Did it, and I can still feel the warmth of the sun.
An unexpected warm day in January, a reason to celebrate.
I bring up these impromptu mini parties because I find myself bubbling with gratefulness, and I can’t decide if the bubbling is because of a change in attitude or a change of circumstances. Maybe both.
Either way, I’m still not making a resolution (or refraining from using a Cover Girl compact), but the way I see it, I have two choices, let daily happenings go unnoticed or see the miracles, which make up my life.
I chose to see miracles. Every time.
What mini celebrations are happening around your parts? Do tell.
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Back in December, my girl was interviewed because she and her cutie friend received a Start a Snowball grant. Here’s the replay. Start at 4:25 or watch from the beginning to see the entire segment.
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