I've gotten a lot more outwardly chill as I've gotten older, and especially after having a kid. It's not that I'm any more calm or existentially secure -- pretty much the opposite -- just that I've turned it inwards since I am keenly aware that no one else gives a shit and it makes you look ten times cooler if you pretend to have everything together.
I of course have none of my shit together and fret incessantly, something which Andrew is keenly aware of. I'd like to stop doing that but it's kind of my thing and no amount of therapy or drugs has yet been successful at shaking me free of that survival instinct. I get it from my mom. (I distressingly recognize too much of myself in her which is ridiculous because my whole life no one would ever have doubted that I was her daughter and the resemblance was uncanny growing up. Why not mentally, too?)
Anyway, that's a long way to saying I am not bothering with resolutions or anything because I accept that I'm shit at keeping them and making them only causes me more anxiety because of the pressure to meet them (and in response to the inevitable failure to keep them).
But I am taking steps to be more conscientious of my relationships in the form of acknowledgments. I want to send cards for occasions, buy gifts for anniversaries and birthdays and holidays, and otherwise directly express my appreciation for the people in my life so that I can continue to keep them there, and maybe quiet that shrieking voice in the back of my head telling me that I'm running on thin ice because people only tolerate me for the things that I can give them and that's why there are so few people still around.
Still going to therapy because in order to accomplish the above I've needed to write myself a whole new journal that has specially designed pages to cover the months of the year, the year on a weekly basis, lists of birthdays in order, backdated entries telling me what the mailing deadlines are to reach those birthdays, gift lists and ideas for everyone, backdated entries telling me what the ordering deadline is to meet the mailing deadline to reach those birthdays, a place to list all the books I finish reading even though I know I haven't finished more than 20 books in the past year... and also piled up a shitton of anxiety for 2019 in advance thanks to having already failed to create 90% of that journal I've planned out in order to keep myself "sane."
Fucking bang on entry into 2019. 10/10 for sticking the landing, Ashley. Nothing if not consistent in this event.