Resolutions and other comedies

Let me be clear: I don't believe in making resolutions. I think it's a farce. You charge into the new year, all aflame with the good intentions, armed only with the turn of a calendar page. Before you know it, you have not lost 10 pounds, finished your novel or earned an extra $80,000. Surprise!

However, I am a huge fan of writing down my goals. There's a difference. Resolutions rely on the battery power of will and the construct of man-made time. Resolutions are sexy. They involve round numbers (10 pounds), far-flung hopes (New York Times best-seller list) and thrilling fantasies (eighty large). Oh, I do love a resolution, but I refuse to take one seriously.

Then there are goals. When I write down a goal, I've noticed it tends to happen. Goals aren't as sexy as resolutions, because like white cotton underwear, they hold up to hard use. But I'll forgive them their pedestrian usefulness, because goals happen. And hey, there's really no better time to review goals than with the new calendar. If nothing else, you have to move all those phone numbers between day planners, anyway.

So with the advent of the new year (a particularly celebrated year, at that), I'm taking the time to write down the stuff I'd like to see happen. Then I'm writing down how I plan to make it happen. Then I'm writing down when I'm going to get these different pieces of my goals taken care of. And that, my friends, is the secret to my magnificent success.

But just in case, I'll throw in one little resolution: to have a spectacular year. Because that's sexy.