"Did you make any New Year's resolutions?" my friend Jill asked me when we were at my friend's New Year's Eve party.
"Yes, I've decided to try to get to bed earlier in the evenings," I responded, adding that I have the unfortunate tendency of getting a second wind toward the end of the night.
"So, you're saying you want to spend more of this year asleep?" she teased.
I laughed, then explained, "It's not like I want to sleep to avoid being awake. It's just that after ten days of great sleep at my parents' place over the holidays, I'm reminded of how much better I function when well rested. And frankly," I added, "it just seems a lot more attainable than all the lofty goals I'm tempted to set this time of year." The kind that are all but forgotten by February 1.
I didn't admit it to Jill, but I did harbor a secret, wildly optimistic hope that more sleep would lead to more energy, which would lead to more exercise, which would lead to lost weight … Still, I figured if my goal didn't lead me to being revolutionized, at the very least I'd be more rested.
I also knew some of the simplicity of this goal was a backlash against my recent awareness of a growing singleness pressure—the felt need to achieve or accomplish something amazing in my solo state. That if I'm not going to do the noble work of personally upholding the institution of marriage or birthing and rearing some great human beings (either not yet or not ever), then I need to have a pretty darn good reason. That as a single, I somehow need to account for the space I'm taking up on the planet in grandiose ways.1