Stoppit

When I get home from work today, I will choose whether to have a beer to end my day.

If I have the beer, I will likely have some popcorn to go with it, and if I have the popcorn, I will likely turn on the TV while I eat it, and I will likely wake up in about an hour with a fuzzy, drooly head. My fuzzy, drooly head will likely mean I won't go for a walk today. If I don't go for a walk today, the dog will be restless tonight, which means I won't get a decent sleep, which means tomorrow is going to be a tougher day than it needs to be. So, I'm not going to have a beer. I want one. I really really do. But I'm not going to have one today. I have decided. Tomorrow when I get home, I will make another decision and it might be different.

Earlier today, when I ate 15 enormous gumdrops left over from Christmas, that, too, was a choice. I decided to eat them. I feel terrible right now and I want to barf, but I'm not going to blame my tummy ache on anything other than my terrible, delicious, sugary choice.

Every day is a choice. Every meal is choice, every cigarette, every workout, every time you change your sheets or yell at your kids, it's a decision. That's the difference, I think, between people who are happy and those who are not. The ownership of the decision. Happy people, even if they're doing things that are ruinous to their health and well being, generally tell me they have chosen their path with clear eyes. One of my girlfriends recently said, "I'm done with the gym. I'm not going any more." She seems pretty happy. She found an hour a day with which to do other things.

Another dear friend is in a bit of a pickle. I love her and I want her to be happy, but right now, she's not happy. What she is, is frantic and a bit scattered, not sleeping well, unsure of why she's doing what she's doing and equally unsure about what she can do to change her situation.

I wasn't sure what else to say about my lovely friend's predicament. I have listened and not judged and not held back my affection as she works through her situation, but she seemed stuck, so, as Marilla Cuthburt would say, I, '...put my oar in.'

Her face was blank for a second when I said to her, "You know, you could just stop. If you wanted to. It's not easy, but it can be done. You can just stop. Just decide. And stop."

Does it matter what her situation is? Alcohol, obesity, a bad job, a broken heart, spouse treating her badly? Nope, not really. Your behaviour is your choice. Your reaction is your choice. My reaching for the 20 disgusting, amazing gumdrops? A choice. I know where the garbage can is, and so do you. Of course there are consequences: 25 gumdrops = 1 tummy ache. Refusing to accept your circumstances = a whole bunch of other decisions, some scary, some exciting.

Weigh the consequences, make a choice. Tomorrow, you get to make it all over again.

Let's not call it a Resolution

We've heard a lot in the last few days about New Year's Resolutions and whether we make them, how quickly we drop them or how we regret making them out loud in a drunken voice at a big party.

I heard a terrific idea this week, and I think I am going to try it, and I'd like you to consider it, too: you get yourself a big jar or crock or container of some sort and some wee scraps of paper to keep handily nearby.

Through the year, when something terrific, awesome, extraordinary, amazing or even just good happens, you write a bit of a detail about it on one of those little scraps, and drop it into the jar.

Next New Year, you open the jar to remember all the times you were amazed or blessed or felt lucky.

You don't have to put something in every single day, but only when the spirit moves you. Honestly, there are no rules.

I expect my jar will be have a few notes about how happy I am that my dog did not eat anything toxic or deadly today, or that I made it home from the grocery store with every single thing on my list.


This little idea seems like a good resolution; fairly easy to keep and it might even be a fun event for next year's New Year's Eve Party - "Look! Another day Emma didn't kill herself by eating my socks! Yeah!"

It's this or lose those pesky ten pounds that keep following me around.

Ya, totally going for the jar, as soon as I finish the peanut butter inside.