Resolution often means re-invention – of one’s internal or external self. Perhaps even both. We wait 365 days to decide to take it upon ourselves to do better, to be better. The arrival of January 1st causes a stir within each of us, we gather in groups with funky hats and obnoxious noise-makers to bid farewell to the passing year and to welcome the birth of a new calendar, but more than that, we are stepping into a hopeful future where we can showcase our new selves — the happier, healthier person we are each wanting to become.
I have often found resolutions to have the life expectancy of an already-bruised banana. You know it’s only a matter of days before the whole thing is turning into a mushy mess, saturated with pesky fruit-flies. But, that same girl with that sordid mental image of what it means to make a resolution went and made one this year – half in jest, half in… OK, all in jest, really. What did I resolve? To give up something near and dear to me: bacon!
I am quite certain my arteries are already planning a huge celebration (complete with an enthusiastic parade of pumping blood) at my mere mention of no longer having to process the nutrition-deficient deliciousness that this pork-product is. And, while a part of me has come to terms with the bacon-free Melissa, my taste buds will never.
So long, dear friend… you will be missed.