New Year, Same Me

"We're going to do things differently when I get home, okay? Things are going to change. Do you believe me?" My partner asked me these questions from the ICU over Facetime. "I believe you," I said, laying on our bed and wondering if he'd ever make it out of ICU. I realize now how easy it is to say everything is going to change when everything had already changed. He spent the entire month of December in the hospital with Covid-19 while I stayed at our empty home and dreamed of what we'd do when he was home. We weren't the same people we were when he was out of the hospital. We cared more about the little things. We made promises for the tomorrows we hoped would come. We weren't living as ourselves. He was finally released from the hospital, and we started our new lives.

Our "Different" New Year Goals:

Only order Postmates one night a week.

Grocery shop for healthy foods.

Actually, make and eat meals made from these healthy foods.

Continue not to drink alcohol (sober for over two years, here).

Try to stop smoking weed (okay, sober-ish).

Exercise.

Save money.

Pay off debt.

Travel more.

Sleep 8 hours on a sleep schedule.

It sounds ideal. The first week of January it was. I made dinner every night. My partner and I would walk to the end of the driveway together every day - a significant accomplishment for him after four weeks in the hospital. I would box air on my lunch breaks in our living room. We would go to doctor visits and proudly declare all the work we were doing to be better this year.

The stronger he got, the harder it became to live differently. We started to not want chicken and veggies for dinner every night. Postmates became our consistent dinner option. The walks to the end of the driveway became walks from the living room to the kitchen. We booked trips for later in the year in case the pandemic subsided. That was expensive and out of our budget - we just put it on the credit cards. At least it ticked off one of our goals, right? We started staying up later. We ended our sleeping schedule because it felt too constrictive. It was a new year, sure, but we were the same people we were before he went into the hospital.

When alcoholics recover from their former ways, they are told a simple mantra for their lives (found on page 85 of that Big Blue Book written by Bill Wilson and his friends) - "One day at a time." Not drinking forever sounds hard, but not drinking one day sounds somewhat doable. So you take it "one day at a time" and don't get too focused on the long-term. I've learned this lesson repeatedly, but isn't that precisely what a New Year Goal is? A long-term promise?

Half-way through January, I was already angry at us for breaking every goal we'd set. I was looking at our financial plan for the year and on the verge of tears. "I thought it was going to be different," I whispered to myself. I realized I was trying so hard to have a "New Year, New Me" attitude, but I couldn't be a "New Me" for 2021. The New Year hadn't made me a new person. It just gave me new opportunities every day. The only day I could affect any change was today, and the only person I could affect was me. While my partner and I have the same goals, we are responsible for how we are every day, all on our own.

Today, I woke up and decided I would eat healthy, do yoga, and not buy things I don't need. Today I decided I don't need to be a New Me merely because it's a New Year. I liked who I am in real life, not the person who made easy promises in hard times about how different I will be. I wanted to be the person who makes the daily decision to do better than the day before. "Today will be different" is my new mantra for 2021 - and that's enough for me.