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Why I’m Giving Up on New Year’s Resolutions.

I don’t do New Year’s resolutions. 

I always found them temporary, boring, and conventional.

I get excited about everyday passion projects, full moons, gravitational orbits, and river questions.

Last year was an exception.

2018 kicked my gypsy ass. The kind of bitch-slap you heard walking through high school hallways, before, “Fight, Fight, Fight,” broke out. 

Major surgeries and heartbreak forced me to skip rocks from the bottom, turn inward, and ask the ego unraveling question: 

“Who am I?”

Instead of choosing to do something, to become something better, I set my intention toward deconstructing a lifetime of bullsh*t, telling me I was anything less than magic.

In the spirit of “healing,” I decided to aggressively pursue the art of “face-planting.” The definition of “face plant” according to Urban Dictionary is:

“Falling on your face in a humorous fashion; the act of planting your face on the ground.”

Instead of “beating” myself into shape, I laughed…manically. The kind of laughter that untangles souls, contorts faces, and makes you need a nap.

I offered my crazy heart on a public platter, with raw hands waving to a culture that taught me to celebrate perfection, security, and predictability.

I pointed middle fingers to a lifetime of “this is who a woman should be.

Instead of complying, I stood confident on shaky legs.

“No bitches, let me tell you who I am.”

2018 has been full of “I could have done that better” moments, but here’s the difference. I decided to surrender the hammer of harsh self-discipline, and fire the council of mean inner critics.

In exchange, I grabbed a hose of kindness and sprayed self-worth over wildfires of “not- enoughness.”

I took off ego cloaks of righteousness, and decided to become my own best friend.

Grace, love, and forgiveness cannot be measured on a scale, social media pictures, or goal crushing resolutions.

I am enough, because I was born, just like you.

I spent 2018 wiggling back into my own skin of comfortable belonging.

I am wrapping my fierce feminine arms around 2019 and calling for a soul revival.

A year that rings with courage to wait, listen, and move from internal rhythms.

A sacred whisper that cannot be heard in hallways of black and white rigidity, or a six-pack of abs.

We have the answers, deep in our fragile bones, hidden maps of mortal brilliance.

The wind reminds us, with one strand of hair blowing across our tender cheeks.

May this be the year we give up all worlds except the one in which we belong, to ourselves.

Moving from a radical beat of bravery…offering ordinary human hands of healing, to a world desperately aching for a Mama’s embrace.

May we intertwine fingers, weaving a circle of community, strong enough to hold each other up, with our unique superpowers.

May we break our hearts open with generosity, because compassion is overflowing when we’ve heard the knock on our own door. 

Welcomed her in with a hot cup of tea to snuggle on the oversized couch under her favorite fuzzy blanket.

It the deafening quiet of early mornings or “middle of night” visions, we can finally take a deep exhale into who we were born to be….

And that is nothing less than magic.

~

author: Angela Meyer

Image: J. Howard Miller/Wikimedia Commons

Editor: Naomi Boshari

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Angela Meyer

Angela Meyer is a Washington, D.C. based writer, seasoned teacher of yoga, black belt in self-defense, and a competitive martial artist. In addition to movement arts, Angela works at an AIDS hospice, is an end-of-life care counselor, Buddhist chaplain, and founder of Warrior Woman Republic LLC. She has a deep passion for justice and loves good beer. Follow her on Instagram.