This is not another article on New Year’s “resolutions.” I’m sick of them (the articles), and occasionally make sport of avoiding them:

“Ha! Another link ignored. +1!”

Historically they’ve done nothing but remind me of “what I’ve done and what I’ve failed to do” in the previous year, an idea which, to me, resonates entirely too much with “churchliness” for comfort.

Sure, I’ve set goals to make real change this year, much of it designed to make stuff simple — and I’m outlining some of those goals here, at least in part, to hold myself accountable.

But I refuse to use “the R word.”

I feel about resolutions the way Ferris Bueller felt about “isms.” Hold to them too tightly, or punish yourself for deviating from them, and risk falling out of the most important habit: believing in yourself.

(Yeah, OK. Ferris said it better. What else would you expect from the coolest kid in school?)

Here’s my point.

Unlike most other resolution-themed posts, I’m not trying to tell anyone else what to do to change or improve their lives. These are pretty much for, and about, me (“New Year’s me-solutions?”). I hope reader(s!) of this page will get some value from them, or at least will see in them something familiar.

• I’ll send a metric ton of paper to the recycler, starting this week. I’m struck by how much power exists in old mail, especially various “statements” and “summaries.” Numbers get bigger or smaller, sales pitches get brighter, louder and more numerous; and all of it makes me want to take my name off the mailbox. Even worse are the fat manila files in the corner file cabinet, concentrating and directing this power like a magnifying glass in the sun.

• I’ll make more room for giving back, this year. I’ve got nothing pithy to add to this, and it’s certainly not a new idea. In fact, it’s trotted out every January to spur (or guilt) each of us to some higher community purpose. OK, Universe, message received loud and clear. Suffice it to say I’m surrounded by reminders that I wouldn’t be where I am without the grace of others, and this year I’ll find a way to return the favor.

• I’ll move, remove, repair, donate or Freecycle half my furniture. Last night I moved the bed a foot out from the wall, put the nightstand where I’d always intended to (rather than next to that spot), and rotated the dresser ninety degrees. Trivial changes, perhaps, but the bedroom feels just that slight bit more “finished.”
  
  (Bonus: they confused the hell out of the cat, who, unable to find familiarity elsewhere in the flat nor to decide where to sleep, instead ran desperate laps for nearly an hour.)

• Corners of rooms will pass the “white glove” test. Again, the Idiot Feline spurs change. If clearing the clothes dryer’s lint screen can be seen as evicting the cat one handful at a time, suctioning the corners of the living room is like discovering (and relocating) whole families. Go forth, fuzzball, and multiply…somewhere else.

• I’ll reduce the space reserved for “expectations” of all types. Plenty of other bloggers will remind you of 2009’s shattered or unmet expectations (the Madoffs, the Tigers, your sports team of choice*, the 111th U.S. Congress).
  
  I’ve always heard the only way to avoid disappointment is to forego expectations, but the outlook that suggests seems pretty bleak. Maybe the delta between success and disappointment lies in how rigorously one checks their expectations against the facts in evidence (now there’s an idea). For example, I didn’t expect a certain someone to appear in my life this year, affect me deeply and then vanish – but, then, I didn’t check my facts nor listen to the little voice telling me I’d leapt before looking.
  
  Lesson learned, not to be repeated (I hope).

• I’ll reinvent my career, with complete disregard for past hurdles. I used to waste time plotting the nagging insecurities and past “epic FAILs” of my career like dots on graph paper: strained relationships with a boss and a co-worker; truly meaningless meetings into which I invested too much emotional capital; endless days and nights working toward someone else’s goals and expectations (there’s that word again) absent any personal buy-in from me.
  
  
  
  (A tale originally told, I believe, in the Gospel According to Cameron Frye, who sayeth: “Don’t make me participate in your stupid crap if you don’t like the way I do it!”)
  
  Sometime recently, I decided to rearrange them. (One can, after all, choose to see the past as interpretive – and thus, “re-interpretable.”) When I connect that constellation now, I don’t exactly see a straight line, a picket fence or a paint-by-numbers picture of the seaside…but I do see an arrowhead at the end of the line. Dots and dashes arranged as if in Morse code, spelling out a simple message:
  
  “Keep going.”

• Above all, I’ll trust myself. Got an inner critic? Sure, we all do. Do yourself a favor this year and tell him to jump in the nearest lake. I did, at least a couple of times – not quite enough to make it a habit just yet.
  
  Thanks to the writers, directors and actors in my life who reminded me to take a risk, I finally: got shot down by a real publisher; “strut[ted] and fret[ted my] hour upon the stage,” to be heard from…sometime soon; and began to give shape and voice to story ideas that have been baking for a decade. (More on these in future posts.)

Happy New Year. Refunds on misspent youth are still available, and you don’t even need your receipt.

Ever forward.

Your turn

Whether or not you call them “resolutions,” what are your plans to innovate, renovate or reinvigorate during the coming year?

* As I write this my New York Jets are playing spoiler to the upstart Cincinnati Bengals, pitching a shutout through three quarters (so far). It’s a ho-hum Battle of the Bubble, but the fact that these two teams are in a Wild Card race at all has certainly shattered my expectations.

See also: Chicago’s Jay Cutler.
(Are you listening, Ron Turner and Jerry Angelo? Just let the guy play.)