Now that I’m done watching Bridgerton and the holiday décor is all snug in the basement, it’s time to sit down and focus on how I want 2021 to be better. Almost all the bad stuff in 2020 was out of my control. Thanks, Republicans! But I do have some agency here. I can manifest a better year. Living better. Hating Marco Rubio better. Annoying my daughter better.
I have zero intention to lose weight or care that you are. Since I have an eating disorder, I’ll spend almost all of January blocking tweets that mention Noom, WW+, gyms, and Novak Djokovic. I did have grief diarrhea through most of September, which was very effective at dropping a dress size, but I don’t recommend it. Lose weight and support the Diet Industrial Complex like how Jesus says to pray: away from me. And remember, there is that saying, “that as we age, you have to choose your ass or your face.” In 2021, I’m choosing my face.
I want to embrace all new growth in 2021. Every few days, I have a “Hey, where did you come from!” moment about some dark, wiry hair growing from my chin or face. That hair means my body is alive and building things. Celebrate THAT!
My airline miles will be useless until Fall 2021, at the earliest, but I can still earn valuable membership points that work for me now. So this year, I want to earn more Allē points. Stick that Botox directly into my
veins face. CCs > seat upgrades. And while I earn those points, I will be supporting a small local business when I walk in and say, “Give me the Nicole Kidman.”
I will immediately cut out all the tags in my articles of clothing. Those things are really itchy, and my neck, my back — which are prone to eczema outbreaks — can no longer take it. What kind of hold does the clothing tag lobby have over the garment industry, that these aggressive cloth-squares-with-barbs still exist in the 21st century?
Sentimentality makes me very uncomfortable. In the words of my 12-year-old daughter, it’s cringe-y. This is not the fault of sentimentality or the people who perform it, but rather because of my own weird issues with what I perceive as weakness with displays of caring. (I’ve spent a lot of therapy working on it, so please do not offer me unsolicited advice here.) But the death of my precious nephew in 2020 has shown me that sentimentality is not shameful; it’s an acknowledgement of feeling, and I want to do better at expressing myself in touching and corny ways. So if you see me posting a picture of a teddy bear holding a basketball, it’s fine. I’m fine.
I guess I am going to be learning some nerd shit this year. The New York Times’ Tuesday crossword is effortless for me, but Santa – aka me – accidentally put a book of Wednesday puzzles in my Christmas stocking. Nothing like a constant reminder from Will Shortz that I went to a state school.
I need to drink more water that is not in the form of melted ice cubes from my cocktail. Real talk to my vanity: water makes your skin look better. If Dasani marketed a water called “Hyaluronic Acid for Your Insides,” I would buy it.
Please let me have the strength to eat more fruits and vegetables. As I age, I realize that regularity is the key to happiness, and if that salad can bring me joy in the powder room the following morning, then spring mix it is! (And please don’t come at me with comments about how oatmeal works, too. Until you have had chicken pox and rubella within weeks of other, you will not understand the Aveeno oatmeal baths that haunt my dreams.)
I will re-watch Bridgerton. I mean, I know I am already going to do it, so might as well add it to my list so I can feel the pleasure of checking it off. And checking it off. And checking it off one more time. Maybe on the fifth re-watch, I will stop noticing the Duke of Hastings’ earring hole. Talk about historic inaccuracy!
I wish you all the best 2021. Stay home, be kind, wear a mask.
Cover image from @polina-kovaleva
Amy takes pride in being a grumpy optimist. Want to talk sports ball? Amy is your girl. Her favorite New York Times crossword puzzle day is Tuesday. If your book is set in the former Soviet Union or World War 2, Amy will read it. As a recovered Southern Baptist, she is raising her daughter to be happy.