Another promise I made was to be as positive as I can, open and empathetic.
When I started writing for The Age several years ago, I made certain promises to myself. Let’s call them resolutions.
One was not to write about politics, because there are others on the newspaper much more qualified than I on the subject. But then, there was that election, which brought in this government and, well, let’s just say it’s been challenging not to express my ABJECT DESPAIR each fortnight in words. But I am trying, honest, to be impartial. It’s just not happening easily or naturally. Perhaps a lobotomy would help?
Another promise I made was to be as positive as I can, open and empathetic. However, as explained above, this has not been a walk in the park either this past year and will no doubt be a challenge in the next. But I live in hope.
Then, there was my pact to never resort to resolution lists as column fodder at the end of the year. But, let’s say I have softened my stance on that last point quite resolutely. Just as I will no doubt back flip on some of the below, as I venture in to a new year, yet again envisaging the improved me I want to be.
Here goes:
I will start making healthy green drinks with that blender thingie I bought on late-night TV, even though they look like bong water and have the consistency of stagnant slime.
I will stop coveting gadgets advertised on TV and finally donate that abdominal contraption that falls out of the linen cupboard every time I open it.
I will not throw food at Christopher Pyne while watching Q&A. Too hard to scrape it off the TV the next day.
I will remember Stella Young every day with love, respect and gratitude for all she stood for.
I will do more for charity knowing nothing makes the heart happier than altruism.
I will try not to kiss my dog in apology after telling him off. I’m not sure how it happened but he appears to be a tad spoilt.
I won’t stop railing at the disenfranchised and desperate being referred to as boats, but I will try not to hiss the s’s in Scott Morrison’s name as habit.
I will watch my drinking. No use rolling my eyes at the behaviour of others when I’m sporting red wine clown lips.
I will continue to write about women’s issues despite the militant feminist Twitter police’s sure-fire criticism.
I will try not to broad brushstroke the Vatican hierarchy as reprehensible villains. Some must have a conscience, surely?
I will not tolerate the belief that all politicians lie and therefore we should simply bend over and accept it. I expect election promises to be kept and will vote against anyone who doesn’t keep their promises. That, and bang my fist on tables and curse – a lot.
Having lost two friends and two acquaintances to suicide this past year alone, I will scream from the rooftops if I have to that, as someone who has suffered depression, I know there is help if you reach out for it. You do not have to live with that pain, I promise!
If I hear sexist lyrics I will not sing along. I will get angry.
I will continue to never walk past a Salvo without putting money in their bucket, bless them all.
I will vacuum even when guests aren’t arriving.
I will not react to hearing someone confess they enjoy Coldplay’s music as if they had just made me drink a cup of warm vomit.
I will turn my phone off or leave it at home when out. And I will expect friends to do the same. Enough!
I will continue to garden, remembering the immense joy of picking my first home-grown tomatoes this year.
I’ll write, not just for work, but for the love of it.
I will remember that no matter how tight money gets, it’s important to keep faith that the universe provides.
I won’t blanch at using adages such as the above, because they are actually pearls, not chestnuts.
I won’t beat myself up about my thickening waist. It’s called ageing and a passion for bread, cheese and wine. As long as I’m healthy, I’m OK being a size larger than I was.
I will continue to buy newspapers every day until the last one rolls off the presses, dammit!
I will not complain about vulture neck and jetlag from long-haul flights. I am beyond lucky to be living my travel dreams.
I will continue to defend Islam to the ignorant and bigoted, despite being an atheist. Some of the most generous, kind and open hearts I know happen to worship Allah. No religion is without its fanatics and zealots.
I will not be sucked in by fashionistas’ declarations that something is “an essential” or a “must have”. It’s clothing, people – not oxygen. Get a grip.
I will actually remember to take the dozens of canvas bags out of the boot of my car and into the supermarket with me.
I will continue to appreciate beyond measure the kind words and encouragement I receive from the readers of this column.
Here’s wishing you and yours a happy, safe, prosperous and tolerant new year.
Age columnist Wendy Squires is a journalist, editor and author.
Twitter: @Wendy_Squires