New Year, New Me
Illustration by Casey Beifuss
At the beginning of the new year, there is this one of a kind, prime opportunity for renewal. The clock resets at 1 a.m. and time almost repeats itself. The world reorients itself upright and you, just like everyone else, can begin again.
There’s nothing wrong with taking time for yourself and prioritizing your well-being, shedding off layers and transforming into a you that you are proud of. There’s nothing wrong with waiting until a new year to do that, just like there’s nothing wrong with making a change on some random Tuesday in August.
Making moves to live authentically, to care for myself from the mind in and to the body out; to travel, to save, to start collecting books are all on my 2022 bingo card. I want to improve, not remain stagnant. I want to step into the life that I envision for myself.
Fueled by TikTok influencers and workout plans, I ran towards my Notes app at full force, planning exactly how I was going to make my goals happen. And with that, my goals grew. I was going to start journaling. I was going to work out every day. I was going to grow out my hair. I was going to buy a whole new wardrobe. I was going to eat healthy. I was going to take zillions of pictures for Instagram.
And my God, on January 1st, I was doing fantastic. I was doing great. I was doing it. I was being that girl — the girl of my dreams.
And then I crashed.
I stopped. I fell back into my old habits, feeling like a failure.
Pacing around my room at 2 a.m. while scolding myself for not sticking to my goals yet again, I forced myself to talk it through. I rambled on and on, bouncing from calling myself lazy and unmotivated to having empathy for myself, recognizing that self optimization was hard work.
Days later, my feed was still encouraging me to get it right. To try again. To be that girl. And like a junkie looking for her fix, I almost caved in again. I shoved all of myself into becoming that person, until I recognized things for what they were.
Until I realized that my perfectly curated feed wasn’t actually just for me, that thousands — if not millions — saw the same videos, tweets and Instagram pictures. That we were all looking at the same images, with so many of us wanting to be “that girl,” the one who took charge and, unfortunately, the only girl who mattered.
I realized that self-optimization had turned away from slowly working to achieve personal goals, and moved straight towards conformity. “New year, new me” wasn’t a personal mantra for me this time around; it was a societal one. It was coded language to push those who didn’t fit, asking them to hold their breath, suck in their gut and force themselves in. It was another scheme to feel like all of your best attributes should be subdued, in hopes that you turn to ones that make you skinnier and prettier, more poised and more linear.
Goals should be personal — meaningful, not gimmicky.
I am not a product. I am not an object. We are not material.
If I choose to do something new, to start over, it should be rooted in my personal choice. Being the best version of myself means focusing on things that mean something to me right now, at this moment. I can mold myself into shape, but only to fit within the confines of my own unchecked boxes.
I don’t need to be optimal, not for this world.
I need to be sensitive and a little anxious. I need to cry and sleep in. I need to spend hours wide awake daydreaming about the future. I need to tell my brother that I hate him, even though I love him. I need to move my body because it’s meant to move, and I need to fuel my body with the things it needs to function. I need to put in the care that my mind deserves, and soothe my ego from a world that can hurt it.
I need to be a little defective, at least in the meantime.
A new year offers a lot of promise, a lot of hope. I’m holding on tight to the me that isn’t quite optimal, and hoping that she pulls me through. ♦