New Year, New…Word
If we’ve been friends more than a few minutes you’ve probably heard me complain about Januaryness, the muck in which we find ourselves now mired. Month of empty pockets and introspection, undoubtedly designed with the idea that given a lack of resources and a lack of stimulating activity, we might think about our lacks and figure out ways to manage things better. Instead, I usually hunker down with a big bag of Swedish fish and an afghan and write a to-do list so at least I’ll know the specifics of what I ought to feel bad about not getting done. Then I wait for January to pass.
But I had a friend plant a restless seed with me this week that started acting up the minute it hit my brain, and it’s been interrupting my peaceful Netflix binge ever since. She challenged me to whittle my New Year’s resolution(s) down to one word.
Now I don’t care much for resolutions, but I’m crazy about trying to find the best, most concise way to describe a thing, so I couldn’t help myself.
I bit.
On a related note, my husband has been telling me regularly for 35 years that I should have been an attorney. I think it’s because I spend roughly 78% of my waking hours crafting perfect arguments, and the rest of the time coming up with the issues that require them.
Through the years, I have found that many of the things for which I need unassailable answers fit into this general category:
I can’t _____________ because ______________.
There are variations, of course. Sometimes it’s I won’t, I shouldn’t, I don’t, or I couldn’t.
But can’t is probably the number one thing for which I spend my time figuring out explanations. And as a result of doing this for so long, I’m pretty good at it.
I thought a lot about what my best one word self improvement might be, (having failed to come up with any decent argument why I couldn’t), and finally after hours spent mulling and discarding options, I’ve got the one word resolution that might actually put an end to the need for resolutions in my life forever. My word is:
TRY.
If ever anyone needed to have something tattooed on them in a prominent location so that they’re forced to look at it every time they look at themselves, it might be me. And this might be that thing.
It turns out TRY is a one word demolition crew for all my most beautifully crafted arguments. Even the air-tight ones I’ve been relying on for years can’t really stand up to this sneaky little word.
It came to me suddenly while I was doing my daily tap dance about whether I should start a big project this week, or wait until next week. It’s easy to figure out a truckload of good reasons why I can’t (it’s hard! it’s scary!) or shouldn’t (it’ll be a waste of time! it won’t ever get published! no one will want to read it!) attempt to write the book I’ve been working full-time at avoiding for several years, but I suddenly realized I can’t think of any reason at all why I couldn’t try.
And the more I plugged it into various scenarios, the more I found that TRY worked annoyingly well for just about everything else too.
Can’t understand how other people voted the way they did? Try.
Can’t stop eating Swedish fish? Try.
Can’t think nicer thoughts about your annoying neighbor? Try.
Can’t seem to ever get the clutter off the kitchen counter? Try.
See? On all counts I’d be better off just for the trying, whether I really accomplished the goal or not.
Rats. Am I under obligation to do it, just because I thought very hard about it, it’s something I have complete control over, it might actually be easier than inventing reasons for not doing things, and it could totally change my life?
Certainly not. But maybe I could at least try.
The worst thing that can happen with embracing the TRY method of living is that I will of necessity become friends with the FAIL scenario. It’s a package deal. But at least if I tried and failed, I’d have concrete evidence to construct better future arguments. And I might occasionally surprise myself and succeed.
“Try it and you may, I say,” Sam-I-am reminds us, waving his forkful of green eggs with the self-satisfied grin of a person who knows he’s right.
I just might.
