 Typical New Year’s resolutions tend to be sweeping proclamations intended to eliminate behavior that is quite clearly unhealthy.
Cut out carbs. Get off your ass and join a gym. Quit smoking crack. Stop screwing your neighbor’s wife. That kind of thing. I’m pleased to say that I’ve already given up the vast majority of habits that have historically hindered my progress in the areas of physical, emotional and spiritual health. I’m far from perfect, but I am a hell of a lot closer than ever before. I might even go so far as to say I am pretty damn OK. Sure, at the dawn of 2013, I made a list of tangible, attainable goals that would shape what I wanted my life to look like for that year (related to work, working out, social activities, etc.). But my official “resolutions” centered on ways I could become a better person. Core work, so to speak.
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 There is no deal lucrative enough to ever motivate me to shop on Black Friday. My serenity is worth a hell of a lot more than a $250 rebate on a flat screen TV at Best Buy. Just sayin’.
All you nutty people who get up long before the ass crack of dawn to wait in line for the latest kids’ toys and other trendy gifts can have at it. The crowds, chaos and confusion are more than I can tolerate. That being said, I don’t mind shopping on a normal day. Depending on the circumstances, I have been known to actually enjoy it. I am a girl, after all. In fact, on Small Business Saturday this past weekend, a fabulous new girlfriend and I spent hours browsing shops along Bardstown Road and Nulu. Each store was bustling, but none were so crowded as to incite a panic attack. (Being very petite, I get claustrophobic in large crowds, sometimes to the point of breaking out in a rash.)  This is the time of year when lots of folks voice their thankfulness in a very public way. They send cards, buy gifts and post on social media. Hell, some people even take out paid advertising.
Yes, cynics who complain all year long about all that’s wrong in their world are suddenly the epitome of humility and gratitude. (I can say this without enmity because I used to be one of them.) I am grateful to have a much more positive outlook on life these days, but I think I am most grateful to get a month-long break from these Negative Nancys’ incessant bitching. SIGH. Nope, I haven’t engaged in any of the public lists of thanks this year. I think I haven’t felt the need because I am privately grateful all year long. I frequently write gratitude lists in my journal, or send short daily prayers of thanks up to my ol’ HP (higher power). I actively count my blessings every day because taking that action plays a major role in keeping me sane, serene and sweet. For realz.  Today, I know how damn lucky I am to be happy, joyous and free. There is not a day that goes by that I don’t acknowledge my gratitude for life, the universe and everything in some small way.
I owe my sustained bliss to the tools for living I adopted as a direct result of the ravages alcoholism has wreaked on me and many of my loved ones during the past couple of decades. I was introduced to those tools because of someone else’s problem drinking, then in my 30s, developed a problem of my own that quickly reached critical mass. I am so grateful that I already had a foundation of recovery and knew exactly where to go for help. This Wednesday, Nov. 20, it will be four years since I had my last drink. Four years free of hangovers. Four years out of the abyss and into the sunshine. Four years of gifts that just keep on givin’.  Hello, my name is Amy, and I’m a recovering band nerd.
See, I was invited to attend two recent UofL home football games at the very impressive Papa John’s Cardinal Stadium. I am not a big sports fan on the best of days, but I have always loved attending sporting events. I enjoy the whole package — the camaraderie, the energy, the crappy concession food and the music. Ah yes, the music. The school band music. Cue the clarinets, please.  I’m feeling a little icky today, so I thought I’d share a short gratitude list to take my mind off of my physical discomfort.
Hey, distraction works, man. Just ask any parent. First, I’m very grateful that my little dog Sam is back to normal. In fact, she’s got so much energy, I’m thinking there must have been Wonder Dog serum in her antibiotics. I’m also grateful that Sam waited to get deathly ill until I was out of the corporate world. It would have been so hard to leave her to go into an 8 to 5 office job all last week after our weekend trauma. It was such a luxury to work in my home office while she recovered at my feet. |
About Amy HiggsA former newspaper columnist, Amy takes her random, slice-of-life stories to the web. After 12 years, she's still just saying. Archives
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