Aim Low

It’s the start of a new year (I know…8 weeks, whatever) and everyone’s resolutions are either going strong or have fallen down faster than a sorority girl at bar closing time. Neither of those options are happening here. At this point in my life (middle age?) I don’t have the mental or physical capacity for the grand, sweeping, life-altering “improvements” to my life. You know what I’m talking about…Dry January, 75 Hard, 52-week money saving challenge. Hard pass.

However, just because I’m not going BIG doesn’t mean that I don’t have things that I could improve in my life. Let’s just say I’m more interested in what I like to call low-level goals. We’re talking complete mediocrity here, not greatness. This is the type of aspiration that if you don’t achieve it, nobody’s really going to know but you. The stakes are not high people. You’ll understand what I mean when you read my list of Low Level Goals for 2025:

• This year I’d like to wear hard pants two times a week. I blame Covid (again), but the number of days that I find myself in elastic-waist sweatpants or leggings without any intention of physical exertion is too many. So, on two non-consecutive days, I’d like to wear pants with a button and a zipper, and without the toddler-type elastic back. Bonus points if they are denim.
• In the year of 2025, I’d like to wear my hair down one day a week. Listen, I go to great lengths (no pun intended) to have my hair cut and colored every six weeks. My sweet and very talented hairdresser transforms me from a goblin with roots to a beautifully coiffed vision in 3 hours. And do you know what I do? I walk right out of the salon and pull my hair back into a ponytail or messy top bun. It’s a well-known fact that I covet a head of long, thick, luxurious hair, but alas it is not in the cards without committing to extensions, and well, no thank you. So, I have accepted the hair that I have and need to try to make it look like an actual accessory one day a week. Notice I said nothing about washing it…dry shampoo is a friend of us thin-haired girls.
• I may change my mind on this one, but this year I’m going to be honest with my dentist about my flossing. More specifically, my lack of flossing. Every six months when I go for my cleaning appointment, the hygienist asks me about my flossing habits. I don’t outright lie and tell her I do it on the daily, but I feign some sort of cough or need to spit, hoping she’ll move along. From now on, I’m going to say “Never” when asked whether I floss. I mean, isn’t that why I am there?
• This next one is hard, because it’s something I dearly love, but maybe isn’t all that good for me. You see, I LOVE Diet Coke. Most days, I force myself to drink 100+ ounces of water for hydration of my wrinkled skin and overtaxed liver. But, the SECOND I am done, I treat myself to a Diet Coke. Counterproductive? I don’t care. One little Diet Coke seems harmless enough, right? Here’s the problem: about a year ago, a Maverick gas station opened across the street from my neighborhood and with it came the FOUNTAIN machine that everybody knows is superior to a can/bottle. So, instead of that measly can from my garage, now I hop in the car and get myself an XXL Diet Coke. Yes, 44 ounces of carbonated goodness. In the spirit of improved health and decreased happiness, I am going to limit myself to ONE of these per week. Ok, maybe two if I’m extra thirsty.
• A long overdue task that’s getting completed in 2025 is the purging of my medicine cabinet. Ambitious!!! I discovered recently when one of my kids had The Influenza that I still have Children’s Tylenol, baby Band-Aids and Bactine for cuts and scrapes. These kids of mine are almost adults, it’s time for the big guns…Prilosec for their GERD, Advil for the serious aches and pains, fish oil for I have no idea what.
• In my 51st year, I am going to chew my food. It’s a wonder that I haven’t choked to death for the number of times that I’ve thrown food in my mouth because I am starving and failed to adequately chew it before I swallow. It gets stuck, I have to pace around trying to dislodge it, sometimes “forcefully.” It’s a whole scene and it must stop. I’m like a dog who needs a slow-feeder bowl.
• Lastly on this extensive list of low-level goals is that I am going to wash my face at night before bed. Never mind, no I won’t. I’ll continue to remove mascara, but that’s all I can promise. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks, and this dog is set in her ways.

XOXO, Julie