Making resolutions like “clean up” is easy, but implementing the plan remains the difficult part, the columnist finds
Happy New Year! And welcome to a new year and a new beginning.
Perhaps.
On the morning of January 1ststI had an insightful conversation with a friend online. It went something like this:
Me: Do you have any New Year's resolutions for 2025?
Friend: No. I didn’t even bother with resolutions this year.
Me: Good plan. Yeah, what's the point? If we do them, we'll probably have forgotten all about them by February 1ststand then I feel like crap when New Year's Eve comes around again. Then we start thinking about all the stuff we messed up this year and feel even worse. No. New Year's resolutions suck!
Um… but still (I mumbled awkwardly)…
I have one thing: I've decided it's high time to start cleaning up.
Friend: That's good, Bev. Cleaning up feels good.
Me: Is that correct? But really? I rather like my mess. It's comfortable, you know? And familiar. Like being surrounded by old friends. It is a reminder of all the people I was and all the people I knew. So many of them are now gone.
I have closets full of thin clothes that haven't fit me since 1984, symbols of unbroken hope. I have furniture that belonged to my parents, grandparents, great-grandparents, great-great-grandparents, and a whole host of aunts, uncles, and former friends, and I can't throw it all away because, hey, they're heirlooms and I'm a sucker for sentiment .
I have fifty thousand tabs open in my browser that I might need at some point.
There's a closet full of film cameras that no one will ever use again.
There are dog toys and bones that should have been stuffed into the round file once the dog gutted it, and that dog has been dead since 2001. I've had four canine companions since then, and they've all worked their magic on pathetic scraps of fabric that are nothing more have to do with the cute stuffed animals they once were.
I have a drawer full of mismatched socks, keys to an apartment I haven't lived in for forty years, and more keys to at least three vehicles that have long since been shredded and recycled into decorative fences, tin cans, or those clever little kitchen gadgets, that no one has ever figured out what to do.
Why in the name of all the gods do I keep this stuff? Something has to be done!
Yes, decluttering is definitely my number one resolution this year. Again.
Friend: Good for you! Do it. Cleaning has always been a constant task for me – I clean up, and then the mess grows back. Probably caused by the same trolls who steal those socks and keys.
Me: I know right? The damn stuff breeds in the dark. Once you turn off the lights, it finds other pieces of clutter to build serious personal relationships with, creating even more clutter and even more stuff.
You know, I'd bet that's where the dust bunnies come from. They are newborn clutter, tiny baby garbage beetles not yet able to gather, but they are there, lurking in closets and under the bed. Evil little jerks just waiting for a chance to coalesce into more trash for us to deal with.
I heard them jumping around in the walls and having tiny orgies of mess. They wake me up at night. And I swear they're gnawing on the wiring just to piss me off.
Or maybe they are mice.
Friend: Cleaning up is one of my goals for this year too. I don't make any resolutions. They never work because there is no real thought behind them. Instead, I formulate actionable goals, then break them down into projects and then complete steps and tasks.
And I do this quarterly.
Me: I hate you!
Friend: LOL!
Me: I've tried putting away the mothballs and poison, but the mess just keeps piling up. It's relentless. I'm becoming a hoarder. Oh my dog! I'm turning into my mother!
Friend: If my New Year's resolution fails AGAIN (and here I sigh deeply), my next task will be to hire a Clutter Exorcist. That should fix the little suckers!
Me: It's my own fault, you know. I recently found a roommate. But of course, roommates also bring their own messes. It never ends. And I bet their mess happens in the dark too. God forbid my messes and theirs ever cross paths.
Oh man! That would make me a pimp! Hybrid clutter is the WORST. I couldn't live with myself!
Friend: You could start a 12-step program for clutter pimps!
Me: Oh no, not another project. PLEASE!
I'm so ashamed.
Bev Hanna is a writer and published author. A recovering portrait artist, she now teaches experienced writers how to write compelling stories and memoirs in workshops and online courses. Learn more at ScribblersGuild.com.