I’m happy to set the bar low.
This year I’m going for the easy win; I’m not embarking on some daunting, haughty, humanity-improving crusade.
Others can unrealistically shoot for the stars and land flat on their, still, dumpy fat asses three weeks of diet-cheating later. They can idealistically pledge tuition for third-world children, only skipping installments when car payments took priority and being sorta relieved in May when a warlord abolishes the program and reaps returns on their investment. Right now, my self-esteem is sky high; I see no need to jeopardize that over some cultural personal-improvement kick.
Grounded in pragmatism and selfishness, my first resolution, or rather decree, is to wear pants less often (1) in 2019. Dirty bathrobes and large, Frank Reynolds-ian sleeping t-shirts will be in heavy rotation. I’ll have instances where I’ll take a shower in the morning and then sport nothing but a towel the rest of the day. Unhindered by excess laundry and wasted time, I’ll be more productive, more comfortable, and more often on the verge of nakedness.
An era of indifferent pantsless-ness will reign supreme. In 2019 I avow not to be confined my society’s aesthetic standards (2). The pretty-boy façade that I polish up with near-daily toothpaste treatments, almost-as-often shampooings, and self-sculpted haircuts will be let loose, purely unkempt and natural. French onion dip will remain spackled in my patchy, sprouting mustache. Unibrow-bridging hairs will be left to grow wild and free. My time will be unhindered by norms; general hygiene will be treated like tipping bartenders—optional, but refreshing on occasion.
Fantastically iconoclastic already, the self-indulgent train will keep rolling through these promises to myself. With winter here, the burden of shoes and boots has become highly obnoxious. Footwear will now be optional for any and all occasions (3). Look, my tetanus shot’s still relatively current and my immune system’s up to face a new challenge here and there. I’ll build up calluses and frostbite, I’ll be toe-jam free for once, and I’ll always have a conversation-starter—it’s 100% downside-free!
Apathy-based resolutions are a beautiful loophole. I’m challenging myself to not challenge myself. Pockets of time will be freed up everywhere. Others, ripe with misplaced ambition, would utilize these moments to read or work on another degree, but I’ll seize the opportunity to make some noise in the nap game (4). Couches, empty cubicles, Costco displays, bus stations, all will be awkwardly slept in. With any luck, I’ll be able to score a few bucks when I’m mistaken for a homeless drug addict.
Oof, this was supposed to be easy, self-esteem boosting but it almost feels overwhelming to be this lazy. Albeit a catch-twenty-two, I’ll be adding the resolution to not give a shit about New Year’s resolutions (5) to my list. Successful, unsuccessful, indifferent, it doesn’t matter. This resolution’s a safety net, ensuring that it’ll be impossible for me to fail my resolutions completely.
I can’t lose if I don’t care.