This New Year Will Be Different: I Will Live an Envied Life

In this New Year I will travel every day. I will visit Yellowstone. The great Redwoods. Big Sur. The microwave. The couch. Back again.

This year, I will learn a new language. The little owl from DuoLingo will be my bitch.

This year I will hack my productivity using the Pomodoro method. But I will call it the “Limone” because I am an iconoclast dedicated to using Italian words when an English one would suffice.

This year I will be the human equivalent of a Rumi quote set in Helvetica typescript over an image of a broken door in Jaipur, India.

This year I will Live. I will Laugh. I will Love.

I will cut all negative toxicity out of my life. Including Marisa and her constant chatter about how she’s cutting all the negative toxicity from her life.

This year I will release a line of limited edition travel fedoras. Each one will come with a cocktail recipe and a vape pen.

I will focus. Rather than endlessly scrolling Pinterest for the perfect kitchen backsplash, I will attain venture capital funding for my self-created fitness and nutrition regimen.

This year I will start a fitness and nutrition regimen.

I will go to ballet barre class every day. Except the days Marisa goes. She never shuts up about how her boyfriend, Chauncy, took her to Mykonos and bought her a cavoodle, also named Chauncy.

This year, I won’t go to Coachella. I will BE Coachella.

I will pivot my career to app design. The first will be a platform for changing careers. It’s called Pivt.

This year I will try something new and scary every day. I will hang glide in Mexico and ski black diamonds in Aspen. I will try chocolate-covered crickets. I will eat off-brand flaming hot Cheetos.

In 2019 I will prioritize self care. I will spend one day a week in a head-to-toe body mask of activated charcoal.

I will get more sleep. As soon as I awaken each morning, I will turn in for the night.

I will take deep, controlled breaths. I will use the box breathing method of counting to four on the inhale. On a four-count exhale, I will tune out Marisa’s prattle about her new startup, a box subscription service for expectant dog moms.

This year, I will not get drunk and tell Marisa my startup ideas.

Each day of 2019, I will post a carefree Instagram with ample lens flare. Each will be a selfie with my hands half in my pockets in a casual posture that says, “I’ve been caught by surprise! It’s mere coincidence someone took a photograph at this moment.” I will be wearing one of my limited edition travel fedoras in a shade I have dubbed “Vasca,” which is Italian for “bathtub.”

I will start my Etsy store. I will craft bespoke anklets from visions I’ve had on ayahuasca.

This year I will try ayahuasca.

This year I will run a marathon. I will train so hard it causes stress fractures in my femurs which I will humblebrag about to friends. They will accept this as a shining example of my dedication as well as an acceptable excuse for why I can’t go to Marisa’s going-away party when really I just don’t want to hear any fucking more about Mykonos.