I’m breaking that resolution right now.

Truth be told, I don’t make New Year’s resolutions. Anymore, that is.

Oh, I’ve made them in the past _ made and broken them, often before I’ve had the opportunity to turn a calendar page or gotten used to writing the proper digits on my checks.

It’s easier _ and less depressing _ just to write a list titled, "Utter Failures and Bitter Disappointments" and include all those personal changes that are too radical or ambitious to gain a foothold in your life anyway.

It’s like the year I tried to quit stuffing my handbag with free samples during every visit to Harry and David. What kind of robot could keep a resolution like that? I just wouldn’t feel like myself without a few Bing cherry chocolates rolling around the bottom of my Vera Bradley.

And yet.

When that ball drops in Times Square and the calendar turns the corner from festive indulgence of December to the cool austerity of January, it’s hard not to take stock and want to adjust.

No resolutions _ not this year.

Instead, I will pull out my compass, my sextant and my telescope. [an error occurred while processing this directive]