New Year, same pessimistic me…

Another year, another million resolutions. Chloe Kingscote vents about the January 1 phenomenon…

“New Year. New Me”, “2015 is my year, I CAN FEEL IT!” scream reams of Facebook statuses. Eye roll, refresh page. It seems that there’s no avoiding that oh-so-ominous new year’s resolution. As much as I would love to see a few accidental black eyes from all the failed attempts at mastering the downward facing dog at new weekly yoga classes, I find it much more quick and effective to scoff and judge without personally breaking a sweat. And yet, as I find myself walking through the supermarket in the hope of an innocent weekly shop, I am confronted by the judging eye of the health section. It stands at the forefront of the store, a sea of wooden crates and green wording garnished with a graceful foliage of kale, acai berries and spinach. I gradually pick up my pace, having sudden hallucinations of oranges leaping off the shelves and rolling down the aisle after me. It’s me against the vitamin C. My innocent thoughts tell me I’m not that bad, I have a fruit bowl in my bedroom, I choose the seedy bread on the few occasions I can afford it and I do have a slight addiction to houmous and carrots. But alas, where has the five-a-day disappeared the last four weeks, Chloe?

I gradually pick up my pace, having sudden hallucinations of oranges leaping off the shelves and rolling down the aisle after me.

The thing that is just jammy (pun only slightly intended) about the New Year is that it comes right after Christmas; the month of the glutton. We convince ourselves that it would be simply rude not to try a slice of Grandma’s Victoria sponge; if it doesn’t get eaten it’s just going to be wasted after all. We may have not needed the extra thick double cream to finish it off but why not, it is Christmas after all. As the excuses grow, so do our waistbands. Thinking about it, I really could do with a healthy eating spout. No “my new year’s resolution is to cut carbs and do 250 press ups a day”, but there’s no shame in wanting to look after yourself, right?

Suddenly, since January 1, things seem to have miraculously dropped from a little bit of luxury to the luxury of not knowing what kind of dried fruit you’re eating (they’re all equally horrifying) because it’s so wrinkled it looks like your elbow. Suddenly that purr of “go on, treat yourself” from the TV that lulls you into a full sense of security, has given way to the well anticipated and equally feared Weight Watchers advert. And suddenly, in the middle of Tesco’s “muesli and other disgusting cereals” aisle, a thought strikes me. Would it really be so bad to get more into swimming this year?

And this is the point where it hits me, have I just made a new year’s resolution? I mean it’s an unproved thesis, mainly due to the overwhelming lack of support by Facebook likes and comments saying “you can do it girl!”, but it seems pretty clear, even in my complete delusion I’m making resolutions! My resistance is futile, the “it’s Christmas” excuse won’t cut it anymore. I must eat healthily, lose weight, regain contact with that old friend, wear more green, learn to sneeze with my eyes open, learn if it’s even possible to sneeze with my eyes open. How have I lived so far in such ignorance?! Guilt can, and will, have the power to take down any resistance to resolutions, and whether you refuse to accept it as a resolution or stake desperate claim to it being a mere “newly found lifestyle choice”, the new year’s resolution is coming to get you no matter what. Maybe those black-eyed downward-facing-doggers were the sensible ones after all.