As December 31 approaches, the newspaper, television and Internet are all rapidly consumed by more patter than is normal. Broadcasters, normally devoted to serious topics like death, war, and school lunch programs, suddenly become fascinated by weight-loss and inspirational stories about recovering alcoholics. The Internet runneth over with self-help blog posts, lists of 2010's best and worst everything, and New Year's Eve party-planning pictorial slideshows. Newspapers publish 17 pages of advertisements per section, all cleverly disguised as event listings for this weekend, and try desperately to keep up with television and the Internet, to whom they are slowly, sadly losing the fight for the privilege of informing the masses.
So, what's the big effing deal? In some ways, it's a day like any other day - we're going to go to sleep on December 31 and wake up on January 1 exactly like we do at all times during this season: Cold.
In the human psyche (of which I am only a casual student, I know no fancy theories), however, the New Year is, indeed, a big effing deal. There appear to be several reasons why.
New Year's Eve is a grand excuse to throw a party during a cold, bleak time.
In millennia past, people didn't have a whole lot to do during the winter. I learned from reading the "Little House on the Prairie" series that there was an awful lot of candle-light fiddle-playing happening during the cold months, but that was about it. In the temperate and arctic climates, we're pretty limited as to what we can do from about October to March. While today's technologies have made a dramatic change to our year-round activities and productivity, it's still damn tempting to hibernate when the snow hits the ground. For some people, the annual round of New Year's Eve parties is a drag, because we actually enjoy our quiet, boring, cave-dwelling hibernation (as long as we have an adequate stock of hot cocoa). For most people, however, winter hibernation is a drag, contravening their basic, human, social instincts. What better time to party than a time of nerve-wracking transition? Which leads me to my next theoretical reason . . .
Change is frightening.
People who have been diagnosed with Autistic spectrum disorders classically exhibit difficulty dealing with transition. Doctors, therapists and psychologists can list off approximately 37 million reasons why this is so. In the real world, however, Autism looks an awful lot like a severe amalgamation of perfectly "normal" human behavior. Who doesn't feel like flapping their hands around wildly when stressed? Who doesn't get squicked out by certain physical sensations - like tickling, scratchy fabric, or sudden loud noises - from time to time? Who hasn't felt like they don't know how to appropriately communicate with someone or some group, resulting in anxiety, mental shut-down, or just severe verbal spewing? In reality, we all exhibit autistic behaviors as part of our daily lives; they're just not severe, or bundled together in a way that makes it difficult for us to deal with day-to-day activities. Perhaps the most common "autistic behavior" in "normal" human society, though, is an inability to deal with change.
I for one hate change. I hate it when I've decided that a certain situation or event will pan out in a certain way, and then some asshole throws me a curveball - like my car breaking down, or that pretty platter of crudites not being touched at a party. It's not because I can't accept these things happening, or because I don't like the people who didn't eat my lovingly arranged veggie sticks; it's because change is dangerous. Changes in our environment and our social status historically signal danger, so as a species we've developed an aversion to them.
The New Year is in and of itself a huge change in the human psyche. We convince ourselves that, next year, everything will be "different;" our lives will get better, we'll finally get that promotion we deserve, we'll do better in our classes,
something will change in a positive way after January 1. But secretly, deep down inside our souls, we are all pretty terrified that the changes the coming year brings will
be disastrous. So we self-induce a societal vomit of self-helping idealism to comfort ourselves with the thought that, starting
tomorrow, everything will be right in the world.
We like to know that we are not the only person who worries.
People don't like to feel alone. Even if you're one of those people who really, truly treasure their space or their "alone time," you are still an inherently social being. That social instinct may manifest itself with one partner, or with 100 people at a bar. But you still need it. Admit it; it's ok.
This isn't about co-dependancy, or even about our individual social skills. It's about survival. The lone wolf is a nice idea and all - there's something rugged and idealistically American about handling the world with no one to turn to - but it just doesn't work. We need to feel united with others, even if only for a moment. When people across the country and around the world all stand up at midnight (time zones are conveniently ignored in our fraternal fiction) and resolve that this year will be the year, it makes us feel good. So we partake.
So if it's all just about unity, E, why do we bother trying to keep our resolutions?
Well, personally, it looks to me like people just don't want to be liars. Even though everyone and their mother knows that these resolutions will usually falter and fail, they hate to admit that when they're making them. This is where human pride comes in. How dare you suggest I'm a liar, we say silently when people make jokes about the fallacy of our resolutions. How dare you suggest I'm incapable of fixing (fill-in-the-blank). So we hold our heads high and give those resolutions a shot. We one-up one another by taking on more difficult challenges with a greater projected award, not stopping to really think about what it is we're setting out to do, or the sheer amount of work we're going to have to put into them. This will become a problem in about a week.
America is a "quick-fix"country that perversely treasures hard work, and we want these things to sing in harmony.
Resolutions usually fade faster than photographs from 1973 left on a sunny windowsill. First the sheen wears off as we realize we actually have to do something to make them happen; as we work a little less every day at keeping them, their bright colors, so full of promise on January 1, blanch to a dismal sepia. We keep them hanging around for a little while (some longer than others), bringing them out to display to family and friends until they're just embarrassing to look at. Finally, they end up tucked in the back of the closet beside those heels you just can't walk in and the treadmill you bought last year. You know the one I'm talking about.
The problem is that most of our "resolutions" are too damn hard. In a paroxysm of motivation, spurred on by too much champagne and not enough hors d'oeuvres, we triumphantly raise a glass and announce that this year we will lose 50 lbs, quit smoking, learn to dance the Jitterbug and swim the English Channel by this time next year. These are not easy things. Yet, they are the most commonly made resolutions, often by the same people each year (ok, maybe not the last two examples, but you get the idea).
Sometimes, we fail because those dreaded changes we sought to control occur without even a pretense of courtesy, and life gets in the way. Often, we fail because we just plain can't meet our resolutions fast enough. Losing weight takes time, discipline, and hard work at the gym. Quitting smoking takes drive and determination akin to Mother Theresa's devotion to the impoverished, and one attempt usually just won't cut it. In our country, we're used to going about things a certain way: We purchase a pill or device or contraption. We take the pills, use the devices, and scratch our heads trying to figure out what to do with the contraptions. We wait for a couple weeks or a couple hours, and suddenly, almost magically,
everything is better. The pills have masked our symptoms or cured our illness, the device has let us know when our ferret has to go to the groomers, and the contraption has . . . contrapted. And it's all over pretty quickly. We're gratified nearly instantly, and we feel like we have accomplished something.
With a New Year's resolution, we've got a lot more work ahead of us. The work takes time and commitment, and sometimes a total change of life or mind frame, as well. For the most part, we Americans just don't have the patience for this.
This is an opportunity to control our destiny.
Perhaps the most gut-wrenching reason to make a New Year's resolution right here, folks.
People are obsessed with control. I'm not throwing stones - I am, too. Americans have one of the worst national public transport systems in the developed world because if you're not the bus driver, you don't control the bus. If you're not the person laying the tracks or conducting the train, you have no control over the speed with which you travel or the route that you take. Judging by the tepid success of most car-pooling programs, we don't even like it when someone else drives the car we're in.
There are so many major books devoted to the idea of controlling your destiny. "The Secret" has been a big one year after year since it was released in 2006. That's a pretty good run for a book. I personally haven't read it, but I'm pretty sure there's no fancy, metaphysical hoo-ha hidden in those pages. Last I heard, it was all about "manifesting your own destiny." Manifesting can conveniently stand in for "controlling" this time.
Even when people "give themselves to God," it's often an attempt at having some control over their future, regardless of what the various religious doctrines will tell you. You walk in, you pray or meditate or cast a spell, you ask "God" for something you want or need, and you walk out of there content that you will receive it if you are "worthy." If you don't think you're worthy, you generally set about acting like a nicer person than you have in the past, by volunteering at soup kitchens, refusing the tax deductible receipt when you give to charities, and helping little old ladies carry in their groceries. This way, you're increasing the odds of your spiritual crapshoot so you're more likely to get what you asked for. We only fall back on the idea that "it's not in God's plan" when what happens or doesn't happen is so far outside our ability to control that we can't reconcile with not deserving the opposite.
New Year's resolutions are just another way to control what happens next. We usually resolve to do something that will create a ripple effect of other, lovely things. When we quit smoking, for example, not only do we stop smelling like walking ash trays, but we stop coughing all the time, it's easier for us to breathe, we have more stamina, and we stop wanting to kill people every 2.5 hours on the dot if we can't get in a 5-minute break. Not only do we exert greater control over our habits, we also exert greater control over our physical sensations, our mood, and our health insurance costs. We also exert control over how people perceive us - no longer will we be seen as the reckless/dirty/stinky/rebellious addict, but as the responsible, strong-willed person that we believe ourselves to be.
That's a pretty big deal.
All together now.
In case you hadn't already guessed, I won't be making any New Year's resolutions. I am joining the slavering mob of nay-sayers this year and boycotting them. I believe it's best to stick with what I know: I will continue to make minor changes to my habits which will positively impact my health. I will continue to work hard at school in order to secure a brighter future for myself and my family. I will continue to be a cranky mess before 9am. And I will continue in my efforts to be a nice person every day, knowing that I will fail (spectacularly) at times, but that I only have to think about it each day as it pertains to that 24 hours.
Go ahead and make your resolutions. Prove me wrong and succeed. It's nice when people succeed. It's also nice when you know what you're capable of and don't set yourself up for (spectacular) failure.
