Why people reject them and why I love them
People tend to have a lot of resistance against New Year’s resolutions. Most dismiss the concept almost immediately when asked about it. Maybe because they have a history of not keeping their resolutions. Or because culturally they are associated with typical over-the-top goal-setting that hasn’t been well thought out, doesn’t have any heart or is unrealistic to most people already navigating jobs, partners, kids, friends, and many other commitments.
We’ve all heard most of them: “I want to run every morning,” “I want to lose 20 pounds,” or maybe “I want to quit alcohol for a year and get healthy” (ahem). The variations are endless, but most are of the more radical nature, that’s for sure.
I think the rejection is related to the word itself. Although most people have goals, wants and wishes for their lives, they hesitate to call any of them a New Year’s resolution – almost like it jinxes it by the very nature of its name.
To me, resolutions make perfect sense. You’re back home for Christmas, work is off, and you find yourself slipping into quiet reflection on your life. You could be thinking about last year’s Christmas. Maybe you are with people who you haven’t seen or talked to for the last twelve months. You contemplate how the year went for you, all the experiences you had, any regrets along the way, and if things in general went how you wished them to. You are already in this slightly pensive place, observing your life from a bird’s eye view. This, to me, seems like an opportune moment to consider what you want from life in the coming year, and how you could go about it.
“The whole year?! Why not just January?” This might be the most common reaction when I tell people about my resolution to not drink for a whole year. Dry January seems to be an established concept, something people would actually consider joining in on. Why not, it’s good for you, and we can all benefit from shedding a little of the holiday weight, right?
But a whole dry year? Now that’s just crazy talk.
A lot of people consistently respond to this with a sense of disbelief. Maybe they talk about an event we are both attending in a few months, how fun it’s going to be, and then alcohol gets a mention: “Ah, but you aren’t drinking of course. Will you not be drinking then either?”, like the concept of a whole dry year seems like such a ludicrous undertaking that surely there must be some exceptions to this crazy rule. Other people come back for reconfirmation: “It was just January though, right? I thought it was just January.” The astonishment surrounding such a ridiculous premise comes in many shapes and forms, it would seem.
Then there is the urge to offer a little temptation – to test me a little bit. Everybody is fine and unaffected by my resolve, except when we’re all going to that annual party, where we warm up with this particular drink, continue into this other drinking-related ritual, and on to some third tradition that will cease to be a tradition if not everybody partakes. Surely I’ll be drinking there? It’s only people I know and a safe environment. “Nobody cares that you drink, it’s just part of the fun.”
Alcohol has such a weird place among the ranks of drugs. Nobody thinks of it like a drug in the same vein as amphetamine, cocaine, and marijuana to name a few. It’s the only drug that we actively encourage people to consume, and depending on your location in the world, consume in rather large amounts!
Imagine a friend vowing to finally rid their life of a cocaine habit, one they’ve been suffering from for several years, and you questioning them about the reasons for this – like it would need an explanation to be considered a sensible or good choice Most if not all would find this premise ridiculous, but nonetheless, this is what happens when you quit alcohol, arguably a drug that has ruined more lives, families and careers than any other on the planet.
I view alcohol consumption and abuse as something along a spectrum. Many enjoy the occasional glass of wine and get drunk maybe once or twice a year, if at all. It doesn’t affect them otherwise and they don’t spend much time thinking about it. I can see why they’d have no reason to change their habits. I sit in a whole different place on that same spectrum. I think about it, I’m wildly affected by it. Every time I drink, I go through the same pattern of temporary entertainment, soon replaced by loss of control, and in the end, shame and sorrow. It’s too great a cost to me.
These thoughts follow me as I soon head into week 4 of this venture. I have spent too much time in the ‘shame’ end of the spectrum, and though I have no doubt this will get harder soon, the relief of sobriety and getting my body back to a normal, well-balanced state will hopefully carry me along a little while longer.