i woke up this morning earlier than i wanted to with drool still caked on my cheek and the corner of my sheets pulled from their respective edges from my sleep. i looked at my phone and groaned in anticipation of a 10am 75 minute heated sculpt class imaging myself attempt a push-up i still cannot do successfully. i hit the small ominous “cancel” button and shuffled myself to the kitchen to make my coffee and broke a mug in the process because i usually break or trip over something once a day, at least i got it over with early this time. as my coffee was violently pouring out into the 3-D snoopy mug my mom gave me that i have broken yet and i wondered if my class cancellation was an act of self-preservation or laziness as the definition of care and punishment sometimes morph into each other in my brain. my coffee spilled over the edge trickling down onto snoopy’s face and i still don’t know the answer to my question. i sat down on my couch and wrapped myself in my white blanket that is so soft and luxurious i sometimes think i don’t deserve it and put on that one spotify jazz playlist i always listen to when i am puttering around my apartment and reached for a new book that was on my coffee table.
i was reading acts of desperation by megan nolan (so good.. oh my god you guys), i read the line, “one of the saddest things to feel is that nothing in the world is new” and instinctively clicked my pen and underlined it in my perpetually shaky penmanship. i put the book down and exhaled as i said “jesus “ to no one other than the creaky heating pipes that serve as a background orchestra in my apartment. i went upon my day bravely running miscellaneous errands in engulfing soho streets and kept thinking about the concept of living a life of newness. i love the weeks leading up to the new year because everyone is walking around with an existential cloud hanging over their head swirling around with quantifiable measures of their worthiness and ambitious plans for self-improvement. last year my main resolutions were to workout less, party more, text/call my mom more frequently, stop thinking about my face so much and see more movies. i can confidentially say i successfully did all of those things and had one of the best years of my life (every year i say was the best year of my life but that’s a topic for another substack).
i used to make resolutions based on restricting my life into a neat, organized metrically driven routine… meditate 1x a day, get 10,000 steps, always get 8 hours of sleep, workout 6 days a week…. 1, 10,0000, 8, 6, 1, 10,000, 8, 6, 1, 10,000, 8 ,6 ,1 again & again & again & till the dizziness of consistency makes me numb. not only are these resolutions deeply boring (to me), they inherently create a monotonous, prosaic life tethered by sameness. it’s so easy to get addicted to that staticy feeling of nothing which is rooted in the security a controlled life lived through the guardrails of “goals.” there is such a sick pleasure in not experiencing life on either end of the spectrum… it almost became a weakness to me to feel anything too deeply. as an exercise in new-year-new-me reflection i was re-reading a few things i wrote this year (and thank you all for reading my yapping………..) i noticed this extremely long run-on sentence in we should bring back dance floor make outs,
“we are not meant to avoid suffering, rejection and heartbreak. but we’re also not meant to be devoid of in-person connection, spontaneity and the juvenile energy of a new crush. our phones have slowly enabled us to put up cushy padded walls up under the guise of self-help and betterment when in reality what we should be prioritizing is learning more about ourselves through soaking up experiences that span from uncomfortable to euphorically buoyant, and none of that will happen if we do not live a life offline.”
i honestly wrote this from a moralistic perch as someone who has never gotten their heart broken and still worries if i’m having too much fun or not enough fun all the time…. but i think the sentiment of embracing the brutality of expansive emotions slowly sunk into my head the past few years (albeit at a glacial pace). to be clear in terms of resolutions, i still deeply value living a life tinged with intention; however, i think my intention should be funneled into being a better friend, daughter, neighbor, stranger etc. as opposed to stressing about whether i spent enough time in a high plank or read a certain number of books that warrant enlightenment. what i want for 2025 is to continually prioritize the newness in my life which can be as big as traveling to a new place or as small as noticing and subsequently complimenting the woman who works at my laundry mat when she wears new eyeglasses… especially when the trap of sameness feels dangerously alluring again.
THANK YOU FOR READING!!!!!!!!
i have to admit that i did have one “resolution” from this past year that was a number… which was to hit 10,000 angel cake subscribers…. thank you again <3
i hope you have the shiniest, meltiest holiday break… enjoy the new year and please do not put too much pressure on yourself muffins.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxo
Reading the line about metrics in our resolutions made me think of this, from The Little Prince:
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Grown-ups like numbers. When you tell them about a new friend, they never ask questions about what really matters. They never ask: "What does his voice sound like?" "What games does he like best?" "Does he collect butterflies?" They ask: "How old is he?" "How many brothers does he have?" "How much does he weigh?" "How much money does his father make?" Only then do they think they know him.
If you tell grown-ups, "I saw a beautiful red brick house, with geraniums at the windows and doves on the roof," they won't be able to imagine such a house. You have to tell them, "I saw a house worth a hundred thousand francs." Then they exclaim, "What a pretty house!"
So if you tell them: "The proof the little prince's existence is that he was delightful, that he laughed, and that he wanted a sheep. When someone wants a sheep, that proves he exists," they shrug their shoulders and treat you like a child! But if you tell them, "The planet he came from is Asteroid B-612," then they'll be convinced, and they won't bother you with their questions. That's the way they are. You must not hold it against them. Children should be very understanding of grown-ups.
as someone who is definitely stuck in the 1, 10,000, 8, 6 or bust mentality, this was a good reminder