After another round of the most wonderful time of the year follows the inevitable comedown. Reality suddenly hits us like a headache so painful, that we almost wish to go back to a time about a month ago where our biggest complaints involved being fed up with Christmas songs and having eaten too much food. Now is the time our responsibilities remind us of their existence, and all we can do is to obediently reunite with them and continue working on our forced marriage together. But simply staying alive and paying our bills doesn’t make the cut anymore. Oh no, we’re way too ambitious for that.
Didn’t you get the newsletter at the end of December with all the new health and productivity tips and tricks of the new year? Didn’t you immediately run into the shop to get your hands on the new superfruit that is going to maximise your brain capacity and basically turn you into Steve Jobs's successor? I’ve also heard this is going to be the year where half of millennials finally become entrepreneurs in rebellion against the otherwise systematically oppressive and creatively limiting workmarket. This will also ultimately result in giving marketing gurus the opportunity to convince us of our hidden flaws we weren’t even aware of before said entrepreneurs’ launch of their new products. Of course the newsletter also reminded me that maximalism is the new minimalism, including some advice on how to simultaneously remain environmentally friendly and reduce our consumption of everything ranging from meat to oxygen. It’s important to express yourself more than ever - just with such little effect on our planet that one has to believe that you don’t even exist at all.
You see, I should probably try to change my bad habits and turn into the superhuman everyone convinces me I can become. But I’ve just read a pseudo-intellectual think piece on Snapchat’s news page about how millennials are more stressed out than ever. So in order to prevent myself from collective millennial burnout, I decide to watch another episode on Netflix without beating myself up about ending up bingeing the entire season. Self-care comes before any work towards my ambitious goals and aspirations in life. On another note, what if I already am my best self? What if all this time I’ve just been to hard on myself? If that’s the case then I guess I should probably disguise my own laziness with immeasurable compassion for myself and assure Netflix that yes, I am still watching.
Do you ever wonder how many avocado toasts and lemon waters you might be away from becoming your best self? No? Good, because no one else gives a shit either. I’m assuming we’re all aware that morning people are either masochists or here to save the world or something. So unless I get stung by a radioactive spider and develop super powers, I’ll continue getting up five minutes before I reach the mark where I know my stress levels will be so high that it defeats my entire will to live and catapults me back to bed. To make up for not getting up before the entire world does, I should probably get a calendar in an attempt to improve my time management. I will definitely buy a monthly planner soon, so I can reflect on every single thing I cancelled in the name of me-time without ever confronting my therapist’s assumption that I might just be protecting myself from fear of social judgement. If I’m lucky I’ll figure that out by the end of next month.
To really work on my self-love for the body and the mind, I might set up mirrors everywhere so I can observe my body from all the worst angles. Maybe I should add some bad lighting and pictures of supermodels everywhere so I finally get motivated again to strive towards the same unreachable goal I’ve set myself since 2012. But then again, maybe I like that it’s just a goal. Who knows. Maybe I’ll let my therapist figure that out for me as I’m too tired to use any more of my precious brain power. However, to take at least a little responsibility for myself, I will still purchase new gym clothes and resistance bands from whatever fitness guru I trust the most on Instagram (meaning whoever has the peachiest butt). That way I can perform some squats and deadlifts at home each time I reach for that potato chip that fell down when I tried to balance everything on two arms in an attempt to avoid making two trips. Who needs cardio when you lift, right?
In terms of healthy eating I might stock up my cupboard with dark chocolate and an equal amount of milk chocolate, because apparently #balance is the new equivalent to #yolo, used again and again to justify our poor decision making. This way I can at least make up for all the well-intended resolutions that failed due to poor willpower and the lack of discipline with a good conscience. Perhaps what I’ve been doing wrong all along on the health and beauty front is that I usually put cucumbers and avocados in my mouth instead of on my face. Didn’t eating go out of fashion a couple of years ago? Maybe I’ll invent the ultimate face mask and weight loss strategy by starting to put all my food in a blender and smearing it on my face. I’ll let you know whether I’ve reached my dream weight or not just before I start developing an eating disorder. But hey, even if none of this works, I won’t just die in despair if I don’t fulfill any of my New Year’s resolutions - there’s probably going to be many more years full of opportunities to create and overcome new problems. All I have to do is to simply survive this one.
