resolutions

This is the first year in many that I've had a desire to make new years resolutions.  I think it's because this year I discovered just how much I like making them.  In 2008 I made resolutions no less than three times.  Some might call what I do simply 'setting goals', but I think when we set goals for ourselves, we are resolving to improve who we are, so it's really just semantics.  In order to cover all my bases, though, I made a list called "Resolutions and Goals for 2009".  It looks like this:

Resolutions:
1) Take a daily multi-vitamin.
2) Cook and eat at home six days a week.
3) Dance everyday.

Goals:
1) Pay off debt.
3) Travel to Laos, Cambodia and China.
4) Apply for grad programs.

This list is interesting because I already do some of these things, and have already set others in motion.  It's also not exhaustive, because I'm thinking of it more as a first draft.  I know I'll make new resolutions and goals as the year moves ahead, so this is just to get me started.  The last list I made was in September, and while I've made progress on some of those items, some have reappeared in the new years version.  So it goes.  The problem with resolutions is that they have come to be known as life changing things, with the expectation that most people will give up and return to their old, bad habits.  I think they should just be things that we feel like trying or things we will be happy to have accomplished, whether it's by the end of the month or the end of another solar year.  The point is to strive.

With that in mind, I'd like to share a poem.  This poem reminds me of who I'm striving to be.

A Word on Statistics
by Wislawa Szymborska
(translated from Polish by Joanna Trzeciak)

Out of every hundred people,
those who always know better:
fifty-two.

Unsure of every step:
almost all the rest.

Ready to help,
if it doesn’t take long:
forty-nine.

Always good,
because they cannot be otherwise:
four — well, maybe five.

Able to admire without envy:
eighteen.

Led to error
by youth (which passes):
sixty, plus or minus.

Those not to be messed with:
four-and-forty.

Living in constant fear
of someone or something:
seventy-seven.

Capable of happiness:
twenty-some-odd at most.

Harmless alone,
turning savage in crowds:
more than half, for sure.

Cruel
when forced by circumstances:
it’s better not to know,
not even approximately.

Wise in hindsight:
not many more
than wise in foresight.

Getting nothing out of life except things:
thirty
(though I would like to be wrong).

Balled up in pain
and without a flashlight in the dark:
eighty-three, sooner or later.

Those who are just:
quite a few, thirty-five.

But if it takes effort to understand:
three.

Worthy of empathy:
ninety-nine.

Mortal:
one hundred out of one hundred —
a figure that has never varied yet.