She spent the whole party playing with stacking cups, a gift given her by Waffle Guy's mother. Slowly, she'd build a tower. Then faster. Tall, thin towers, and shorter, broad towers. Towers sorted by color, and multi-hued towers. Always, her towers would fall, but she was undisturbed. Lost in play, she picked up her treasures, and lovingly built the biggest, most colorful creation she could muster.
We've just changed our calendars, and pop-culture columnists from all media are making their predictions about Who to Watch, Where to Be Seen, What to Wear, and How to Wear It for 2011. Tech experts are doing the requisite four-minute morning-news segments about this year's must-have gadgets. Personal bloggers and self-help gurus are listing resolutions and setting intentions and writing about theme words for the New Year.
There are lots of rules about new years, apparently. Lots of advice.
Set resolutions that are attainable, we're told. Try cutting out soda instead of deciding to lose 50 pounds. That way, they say, you're less likely to get frustrated and give up.
Or don't set resolutions at all. Set intentions. Just deciding to change is the key to changing, they say.
They also say you can pick a theme word. Choose an easy-to-embrace mantra, and repeat it with all your might. This way, they say, you're not focused on the things you're doing wrong in life. You're likely to notice what's right if you can wrap it all up into one simple word.
They say lots of things, and I listen. I'm not sure why. I have yet to see the science that tells me that big goals are worse or less attainable than little ones. And while I've intended to be a chocolate-guzzling comedienne-supermodel with a recording contract and my own Florida Key for some time now, I'm beginning to realize it's just not going to happen for me. And somehow, I can't possibly find just one word that describes the incredible, complex and nuanced thing I wish for my life to become.It's possible that I'm missing some glorious point. Maybe I'm not emotionally or spiritually evolved enough. Nevertheless, I really don't care what I'm supposed to want or who I'm supposed to watch or how I'm supposed to do things in 2011. In the past, I've paid attention to all those things at one time or another. And do you know what it's done for me?
I don't.
I try to keep it positive here, but I have a bone to pick with American culture as I begin the next year of my life. When, exactly, did we become so bombarded with messages about what we're supposed to do that we forgot who we want to be?
I mean, try it. Ask yourself who you want to be. Answer. And then ask yourself how your answer would be different if you had never seen a magazine, or a newspaper, or a blog, or a movie. Scratch every answer that can be measured in pounds or inches or dollars or promotions or possessions.
What if your answer wasn't at all influenced by what your mother taught you, or what Oprah said, or whoever wrote whatever in that column you read? What if your answer came from inside you?
My favorite people all seem to be driven by a common force; a beautiful inability to listen to all of the messages that they're given about how they're supposed to live their lives. Instead, they watch. They notice the things that are true. And they choose for themselves how to build the lives they want.
What if you're already doing everything you need to do? What if you already know what you need to know to live your best life? What if no one else needs to tell you?
I'm not actually sure what I want from my life, much less my year, but I know that I don't want to distill my life down to an easy, formulaic strategy that ends with me being a size 2 Stepford. Why do I have to do or have or be anything specific at all this year? What if we all simply lived, really lived, our lives? What if we loved every minute for exactly what it was, and loved our family and friends for exactly who they were? What if we just let life count for what it is?
It's not that goals are bad. It's just that, with the hype of each new year, it seems we forget more and more what constitutes a goal that is important and worthy. When we're 95 years old and breathing our last breaths, will these resolutions and words and intentions and gizmos really have helped to fill our years with life?
Some, maybe. But not most. Trouble is, it's hard to tell the difference.
And that's why I aspire to be more like my Littlest Waffler. Just to notice the perfect, bright building blocks of this life, and to stack them as well as I can.
This year, I'm resolutely refusing to buy in to the ballyhoo. I'd rather just love what I already have.
