“Two Takes” is a Kapio opinions feature that pits two opposing views against each other. The question under debate for this “Two Takes” is “Are New Years Resolutions a worthwhile tradition?” This is the “Nay” article. The “Yea” article may be found here.
For as long as there has been a new year there have been resolutions, both good resolutions and bad resolutions. Now, I’m not saying that pledging to lose a couple extra pounds, or to stop letting your dog take care of its business on your neighbors lawn are bad thing, but there are times when a resolution, founded purely with good intentions, catapults backwards and plops you and whomever is so lucky to be around you directly in the face. I’m talking about the rebound effect. When you push or pull too hard and too quickly, much like a rubber band, the line will break and snap back as quickly as gravity will allow, and if you’re the unlucky resoluter standing in the line of fire, you might just wind up with a big red welt on your forehead; inevitably a bit worse off than you were before on Dec. 31.
Take for an instance a man who has just spent the last few weeks gorging himself on holiday goodies that would make Santa and his big belly blush. Now our bloated friend, after days of abusive gas and tormenting heartburn, stands upon his bathroom scale, and while choking back his gravy flavored tears, pledges to never touch a chocolate cake or coconut cream pie again. To top it off, he looks into the mirror and with the severity of a lone ranger drawing his revolver in a final showdown with the town villain, steadfastly picks up the phone. With resolution, he punches in the numbers to that trendy health spa down the road, with a price tag that would make his depression era grandmother weep, for our portly pal concluded, that by God, this new year will be different.
Over the next few days, and with monk like abstinence, our friend stays true to his word. No leftover turkey, no pie, not even a cookie temps our new and improved future Calvin Klein model. It’s grapefruit juice for breakfast, steamed carrots for lunch, and a glass of warm water for dinner. Every morning before work he quietly slips away for some quality time at his suave new gym down the street, complete with scented oak locker rooms and gilded dumbbells.
After working up a satisfying sweat, our hero heads home only to find a positively intoxicating aroma wafting through the house. His wife was cooking up a storm. Famous for her down-home island cooking that is the envy of the neighborhood, it was no surprise to see a few beads of sweat beginning to gather on the forehead of her unwitting husband.
A wolf howled in the pit of his stomach. He leapt for the door, but it was too late. A swift jerk on the back of his collar toppled his resolution. She had him. The wife, sick of being woken at all hours of the morning to the sound of a lamenting soliloquy outside of the refrigerator door, and whose Vegas vacation savings had been drained for the outlandish cost of the premium gym membership, yes, she decided to swiftly put an end to her husbands disquieting lifestyle before things got out of hand. Her method was simple: feed the beast inside of him that had been caged instead of tamed.
“Honey,” she said, “it’s okay to eat my food, just don’t eat the whole house.”
Looking up at her from floor where he lay in a puddle of well earned despair, he gurgled, and then smiled.
She was right, a resolution that cannot be kept and will only lead to misery and failure should not be made in the first place, especially when it runs the risk of upsetting a happy household and a modest pocket book.
The goal hence fourth was moderation, and this resolution, though not made on news years day, was one to be held on to for life.