This past Tuesday was New Year’s Day and that means we’re not even quite a week yet into 2019 and there are no doubt at least a few resolutions made that are not being kept.

At least, not yet. Don’t give up hope just because it’s been a rough week.

If this blog post were an essay or pamphlet of a vintage, say, around 1790, the title would be something like “A Year’s Resolution, in Three Parts, and a Proposal for a Scaled Back Annual Commitment, ~or~ A Month of Sundays” (I used the shorter title above). So I guess I need to get to those three parts first, and then the proposal.

One thing about a New Year’s Resolution is that mostly, we expect too much of ourselves, and we discount the effort some things will take. If you have a nebulous goal, like, “I’m going to eat better!” or “I’m going to lose weight!” you’ve basically just signed on for mindfully keeping a commitment every waking minute of every day ¹. One stressful day, or a day where you don’t have the time or energy, and you’ll find yourself with a take-out or delivery container [or pint of ice cream] and an excuse; after enough excuses stack up you’ll be back on your usual habits and routines and you’ll actually feel better about giving up.

If your goal is to daily [Do The Thing], make it a small ask. Take the stairs, not the elevator: small, concrete, measurable, often a substitute for other worse behavior, and not more than 15 extra minutes out of your day. If you have a nebulous goal like ‘eating better’, you could make it something small & but actionable like, “I will eat one extra serving of vegetables with every meal.” (Baby carrots, either with breakfast or as a snack between breakfast & lunch, is a good way to get that first one in. Vegetable omelets are good too, if you have time to cook breakfast; most leftover non-salad veg from dinner the night before can be put in an omelet the morning after and usually works).

Health-based resolutions are most common (and sell a lot of gym memberships every January) but creative or project-based resolutions can be fun targets that encourage you to stretch your limits a bit. But if your goal is too big, too broad, or a daily [do the thing] you might find yourself in six to eight weeks eating metaphorical pizza amid the ruins of your 2019 Resolution failure. Possibly also with actual pizza.

Let me drop a section break and restart the article with part two.

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New Year’s Resolutions could, possibly be traced back to certain practices of ancient Babylon or ancient Rome (…if you believe Wikipedia, and in this case actually no, I don’t) but the idea of making changes for the New Year probably dates back, informally, to a point when we first had numbered years and calendars to track them with.

Odds are good the annual “resolution” as such is more modern, perhaps taking a bit from historical paying of debts before New Year’s Day (in ancient Babylon or more-recent-but-still-going-pretty-far-back China), lenten sacrifices and other religious annual practices of reflection, atonement, and forgiveness, and the Aristotelian idea of temperance, virtue, and self-governance as rediscovered by Europe in the 1200s and then refocused through the lens of the Reformation? At any rate, we have proof of Samuel Pepys making resolutions for 1662 and 1664, “solemn vows”, and gaining cultural traction and wider acceptance by the early 1800s. The idea of a New Year’s resolution as a secular, personal thing as opposed to solemn vows made to God or god probably date to Kant, or the Transcendentalists who followed him — not that I can point to a single essay saying as much, but the timelines match and then the Victorians get a hold of it and a lot of “things we’ve always done” and our collective holiday traditions only date back to like, 1840.

Resolutions are fine, strive to be a better human, yada yada yada, but this isn’t ancient wisdom handed down on papyrus from the first civilizations. More self-help 1960s & 70s, less 1690s or even 700s.

So Don’t Feel Bad™ when inevitably all your resolutions fail in an epic pizza binge on Friday 15 February ².

The main takeaway here is that you’re not breaking a vow to Janus and breaching the ancient compact when you fail with a resolution, as about 88% of us will, and that there’s nothing particular about the New Year (and its 1st day) or the calendar year except as a convenient framework.

We can select different frameworks.

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There’s actually a whole very long List of Timed Artistic Challenges, including a few you’ve heard of like Inktober and NaNoWriMo, and others for every month and some year-round or year-long ‘organized’ challenges besides. A New Year’s Resolution might be considered the first of these, or at least related as a type. Granted, resolutions predate NaNoWriMo [1999] but now we have a model and a vocabulary for this sort of thing (including but not limited to ‘timed artistic challenge’) and we can see how certain types of New Year’s Resolution (like any other year-long project) are a timed artistic challenge in all but name.

The various WriMo’s and -embers and -obers all have a certain cadence and set of rules: where creatives & others who want to try the ‘challenge’ take a month (30 or 31 days) and Do The Thing — and occasionally, post and share it. There’s an ad hoc community that can form, either organically on social media as everyone posts using the same hashtags, or in official and unofficial forums. The Doing Of The Thing is enough for some people, and the excuse/opportunity of the timed challenge plus their internal motivation is enough. But for most of us, we need the social-support-slash-peer-pressure to convince ourselves to stretch, to go just a bit past what we think our limits are. An opportunity to try something new or to tackle something in a new way. So the community is the more important part, even past the challenge ³.

But the big honking thing in the room with these timed artistic challenges is The Daily Grind: the daily grind is kind of the point — but could also be very off-putting for people who can’t sacrifice that much time OR maybe could but not for a full month OR for those who think they can hack it and will try, but for whom burnout around day 7 or 8 is a real and often encountered thing.

A month of the daily grind is one thing. If we were to stare down a whole year of a daily grind, we’d be forgiven if we just gave up on, say, the 5th of January which happens to be a Saturday and order a Fail Pizza ⁴ and get wrapped up in other things happening because damn, there’s a lot of distraction out there. The Resolution dies on Saturday with pepperoni.

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And so: the proposal.

There’s an English idiom, “a month of Sundays”, often used to imply a really, really long time or something that happened a long time ago. But if you do the math, it’s only 30 or 31 weeks and that actually fits quite comfortably in a year with a fair buffer on either side.

If you were planning on doing something for ‘a month of Sundays’ in 2019 you could start now(-ish, Sunday 6 January, though most of us just missed that mark so 13 January) and finish up on 4 or 11 August

…Or pick any start week between now and Sunday 2 June and still be able to start and finish a project of 30 or 31 weeks in 2019.

You could use any of the List of Timed Artistic Challenges, already framed for a month, and instead post/finish/finalize one block each week, instead of a daily dash to a scramble finish and a mess it takes weeks to recover from.

The benefit of doing a creative challenge this way is that instead of a daily grind, you only have to post once a week. On a Sunday, so after most of us have Friday night, all day Saturday, and Sunday morning — even if we did the ‘bad’ thing and put off doing any creative work during our ‘pays the bills’ work week. And many of the challenges are annualized anyway, “Hey friends let’s break and bust everything and do this impossible thing in a month — but not every month, ha, who’d do that. We’ll do it this one month out of the year”

If the thing is so impossible to do that we’d never manage outside of that flat-run-whole-month-heroic effort, why, it might take A Month Of Sundays to do otherwise. [insert a self-satisfied winking meme here]

That’s it: A neat catchphrase, a recycled idea, and a framework you might be able to hang your project on. I’m not curing cancer here. But if you either made a resolution you’ve already slipped on — or only had half an idea for a project, if only you had the time, let me give you a gift of time.

A month of Sundays.

Let’s go.

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¹ If your resolution is to quit smoking: Do that! Some days will be rough, and none of this advice applies, but go for it. If you have a really rough day, might I recommend a pint of ice cream instead of nicotine? I mean, it’s not a perfect solution but we can address the extra 15 pounds in 2020.

² Epic Pizza Binge is my new holiday/tradition, to be celebrated annually on the Friday after 14 February because why not.

³ See, it’s the end of the post, so I can reference the whole post in the footnotes and not just the bit with the number on it. If *someone* who isn’t me because I’m not doing it, wanted to do a Month of Sundays 2019 as a Thing, I’d recommend 3 March to 29 September (that’s 31 Sundays) just to kind of work around some of the end-of-year stuff, including NaNoWriMo and also because it gives folks 7 or 8 weeks into 2019 as a runway to ramp into the “year-long” project before the 3 March/first Sunday in March launch date.

⁴ sorry for relying so heavily on pizza-as-metaphor; as I write this, I think I’m just hungry

When you’re young and there’s a whole world ahead of you, you can feel paralyzed by what you perceive as near infinite options. What do I choose?

Two or three decades on, though, you can feel trapped by your choices. How is it that a decision I made at 17 now seems like it has closed off half the world to me?

The truth, of course, is that we can always make new choices, but the wisdom (or “wisdom”, or scar tissue) of past experience means we know that choices have consequences. It’s not that we can’t make the same kind of leaps into the unknown that many of us were willing to take at 22, we just know the trade-offs and compromises that we’ll be making alongside that leap.

The trade-offs and compromises were always there, we just see them clearly now.

At 17, I was an idiot who thought he knew everything. At 22, I was an idiot who would admit he didn’t know everything but felt he had the tools to learn anything. At 44, I know I’m just an idiot.

I’d love to chuck it all, move out west, start over, and take the sort of leap of faith I should have made in ’96 or ’98. I’d love to go back to school. I’d love to start over in another part of the country, some place that feels new and full of opportunity (even though intellectually I know the frontier closed more than a century ago, ‘the west’ calls, especially places that vote bluer than here).

But I still have family, and a move like that would mean putting a continent between me and them. My parents are reaching an age where my proximity might matter.

That’s the last tie, though. I’m not following my life’s passion or anything with the current employment situation and while my metro area is fine, economically, I’m not a huge fan despite having been born here. It would take very little to dislodge me from this slightly uncomfortable rut. A job offer. A relationship. Hitting rock bottom a fourth time.

There are changes I can make anywhere; the living situation doesn’t matter, really. If I’m going to be a writer, I can write from anywhere. If I’m going to “go back to school” I can do so just as easily with a library card and internet connection, so long as I don’t have to have the paper (getting a new credential would be better, though, to be clear). I can make resolutions (annually, even) to be fitter, or more social, or more frugal, or better in whichever way.

Even now, I have 20 years or more of “work” or a “career” before I can reasonably expect to “retire” (sadly, I doubt I’ll be able to retire) and 20 years is a long ass time. Outside of any restrictions I place on myself, or the ties I willingly double the knots on, I could honestly try anything. I have a lot fewer obligations and restrictions than most people my age – no spouse, no kids, no job I love and just can’t leave.

A whole world, even.

With a whole world ahead of you, you can feel paralyzed by what you perceive as near infinite options. What do you choose?

Any sort of daily writing can feel like a chore. For many writers, it’s a weight we take up willingly, but it’s still a weight.

There’s a cartoon I can’t find at the moment (at least not via Google Image Search) that shows Sisyphus of myth doing the thing, and at the top of his hill is a guy at a small desk with a typewriter. The boulder slips away, as of course it does, but there’s a conversation,
“Still pushing that rock?” the writer asks.
“Yep,” Sisyphus replies, “Still writing that novel?”
Which concisely sums it up, neatly encapsulating the feeling that writing is an endless, thankless, hellish task.

If you’re a journalist, this is the job: push it up the hill, and then start over. The assignment is open-ended; you can win a Pulitzer and that’s nice and all but doesn’t change the fact that you have to fill 50-odd pages of newsprint (or feed the starving web algorithms) every day. If you don’t, someone else will. If you don’t like it, go write a book or something.

Bloggers aren’t journalists, and we’re typically not paid [?] [I don’t think this has changed since 2014; if you have an update hmu] so the deadlines are different and the stakes are smaller. But it’s built into the etymology of the word: “web logs” are—or were—Logs: diaries & journals. They could just as easily be weekly or monthly or fortnightly or some other regular schedule but if there isn’t a regular schedule, readers sort of… wander. It’s not that they don’t like you, or that they’ve forgotten you, but you key into something fundamental when you can give your readers that consistent daily hit. Preferably at the same time every day, and they will never say so (ok some will) but they mean every day unless you’re dead and even so, some will lament you weren’t keeping a buffer. Or didn’t have the ending pre-written.

This bleeds over to twitch streamers now, and to YouTube channels, who have the same expectations that they’ll be on every day no breaks no vacations. And occasionally to specific hosts on YouTube; it’s fine that the channel chugs along and produces content But Where’s Tom’s Wacky Thursday WTF-Fest! Did you fire Tom? BOYCOTT. “I mean, Tom’s back now but his show just doesn’t seem the same since he took two weeks off last June for his brother’s wedding and father’s funeral”

Even if you personally have a passion for the material, reader expectations can become a weight.

10 years ago, when the previous version of my personal blog launched [now at archive.rocketbomber.com] I was publishing “bestseller charts” for manga on a weekly basis. When I started I loved the challenge of it – of figuring out how to get the data out of the barest scraps of info off of public-facing sales sites and attempting to find the underlying numbers, even if the best I could manage was comparative and not, you know, actual hard sales data. I stopped when Borders went out of business and other online retailers basically conceded the game to Amazon. But before the whole thing fell apart I was spending about 4 hours a week (and $99 a month for a host to run my web scrapers on VMs) to produce… drumroll please… basically a top 10 list. More often than not, a top 10 list not much different from what you’d find in the NYT books section on Sundays, or with a click on Amazon.

It was a weight. I carried it for a couple of years because I like the subject matter (manga and comics) and because I liked the mental puzzle part of it. But unless something changed, it wasn’t a weight I could carry without help—and when the change hit, it wasn’t to help me but to make it all seem kind of useless. I’d pushed that rock up Sisyphus’s hill and discovered why it always slips away from him.

Even when I had *loads* of time, I couldn’t always manage daily updates. When I was unemployed, the job of finding a new job typically took up about 4 hours of my day. There was time to write. (I did write, doing some link-blogging and writing a few music essays.) But even with time, I couldn’t always pick up that weight. When you’re feeling down and worthless, you can’t always put on the Happy Face to write about something you love, or even muster the energy for the srs bzns posts that don’t need your enthusiasm but still need you to, ah, write.

Even when you are employed and relatively happy and there’s food in the pantry and the rent is paid and all outstanding bills are 3 to 4 weeks out: it can be hard to pick up that weight. Here’s a new game, here’s a funny video, here’s Twitter. Distractions abound. Go for a walk. Do a little more research on that one thing. Lunch with a friend. Hell, clean the house.

When you’re avoiding the tyranny of the empty page, you can get so much cleaning done. I’ve cleaned a bathroom and recaulked a shower enclosure rather than re-open the working-document-slash-gaping-wound of a draft.

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Why now?

I’m not sure, entirely.

I mean, the blog has always been here, I pay the hosting to keep it going. I even tidied up a bit, moved things around, installed a newer version of the CMS, and made everything ready to blog again…

And left it to sit for a year.

Midlife crisis, maybe? Attempting to reclaim my youth with a brand new red corvette convertible or harley, except I’m an online nerd so instead of rustling my thinning hair on the open road, I pop the top on a new blog platform and take it for a spin?

Whatever the motivation, I feel a little better and pretty much rested and so, I’m looking at the top of that hill. I intimately know this weight, and yet, I take up the weight. I start pushing that rock.