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On resolutions


With the beginning of a new year comes the inevitable. The making of resolutions. 
As I sat (read: lay-in-bed-all-day-because-I-couldn't-handle-the-thought-of-much-else-thanks-to-the-extremely-fun-new-year's-eve-I-spent-in-various-locations-around-London) watching television programmes such as 'Location, Location, Location', 'Come Dine with Me' and 'A Place in the Sun', I noticed that all the advertisements were attempting to sell me a product or service to aid me in achieving my resolutions for the brand new year. There were ads for job search websites, diet plans, a car advertised by way of the driver proposing to his girlfriend, too many charities to name and holiday home rentals. As I made a mental note to watch 'How to Lose Weight Well' and then quickly dismiss the idea as I put in my order for KFC (read: hangover food from the Gods) with my flatmate, I must admit I did begin to think about what I hoped to achieve in 2017.
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As I mentioned in my last post, most people were extremely happy to say a big fat farewell to 2016. A lot of terrible things happened in a short twelve months and I can absolutely see why hope rested on 2017 to reset the clock.
As I also mentioned, for me personally 2016 was a great year. I went through some very big life changes that have made me happier, more fulfilled and excited about life. And while you may think I’m in a terrific position to get stuck into making my resolutions for 2017, as I began to think about what they might be, I experienced a weird form of stage fright.
If last year was a success, how can 2017 possibly follow in the same vein? Maybe 2016 was the peak and 2017 will be the downhill tumble? Maybe the gloss of my new life will start to dull after another few months and the monotony of routine will take over? Maybe I’ll get one too many rejections for my writing and realise, actually, the world would rather I go back to a day job? Maybe I’ll *gasp* get sick of London? Or, more likely, if Article 50 gets triggered, maybe my Greek passport and I will be kicked out of the country anyway? Oh boy.
Granted, when one is hung over thoughts can spiral out of hand and descend into darkness within minutes. Add to this the self-loathing that immediately followed inhaling one too many pieces of KFC, and you can see why I hurried back to bed, my head firmly under the covers.
So I put all thoughts of goals, resolutions and 2017 far, far away and fell asleep in the hopes all would look, feel and be better the next morning.
Now, I don’t really bounce back after nights out anymore. Rather, I stagger from day to day, hoping I’ll feel almost normal somewhere down the line. I think it was actually yesterday when the world began to right itself and the fear I’d conjured in my mind about what this new year would bring began to dissipate. I ventured into the city and took heart that people were out and about just like they were in 2016, looking for a bargain, having a lunch break, braving the cold and generally just getting on with things.
And on the bus ride back home, I finally made a resolution. A resolution that didn’t diets or jobs or a car or holidays. A resolution that wouldn’t try to one-up 2016, or be influenced by what might or might not happen because of events I can’t control.
My resolution for 2017 is simply to live my best life.





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