Essay

Resolving the resolution

By Kit Pancoast Nagamura

School chalkboards were once made of slate, a gray stone that resembles the chilly skyscape of January. People think of starting a new year as "starting with a clean slate," because it offers the chance to erase one's mistakes and begin afresh, as one did with school lessons on a chalkboard. The holiday inspires many, in the bubbly euphoria of champagne or in the hangover experienced the following morning, to write out New Year's resolutions.

New Year's resolutions come in all shapes and sizes. Some people choose health-related aims, vowing to deflate their spare tire, stop smoking, or (once the champagne is gone) give up booze. Others steer themselves toward self-improvement, such as learning a new language, running a marathon, or acquiring new work skills. Some express heartbreakingly humble aspirations, such as hoping to spend more time with their family, pay off personal debts, or de-clutter their homes. Regardless of the goal, studies show that the percentage of people who fulfill their ambitions hovers at around 12 percent.

This concerns me because I need to clear the clutter that clogs my room like cholesterol. I understand how failures happen. Grandma brings over a 10,000-calorie fruitcake she made just for you and you have to eat it, or French is, zut alors, harder to master than you thought, or your ankle turns under at the five-mile mark. Therefore, I have studied how that 12 percent manage to stick to their promises.

The trick seems to be to attend to one's resolution on a daily basis, rather than attempting mastery of the situation immediately. The idea is to take tiny steps. I can attest to the effectiveness of this approach, because last year I resolved to spend some time each day writing creatively. I chose to study and write haiku because they are brief works, concerned with the immediate, the subtle shifts of seasons and resonant cycles. I thought I could manage to do one each day. I now have a collection of 600 poems, and I think I experienced the year in a richer manner as a result. How many of those haiku are really good? Who knows, but I treasure the achievement.

So, if I were to learn from my own findings, I should set about tidying bit by bit, every day. Frankly, the idea stuns me into immobility. One pile of books supports the ceiling in my study — removing it might bring down the entire apartment. There's a box of photos under my desk which might as well be a pit of quicksand, because once I go in, I'll never get out. Bills and letters cover surfaces like snow. De-cluttering is de rigueur, but where to start?

Firmly, I remind myself that potentiality is the divine element in humans. Our celebration of the New Year is not merely a shout-out to the passing of time, but rather an acknowledgment of all that has transpired and all that the future could hold. I tell myself, start small, with the desk. Just clear it. And I will. I will throw all that clutter into a bigger box under my desk, and then write a haiku about it.

Shukan ST: January 14, 2011

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