SONORAN SUE SAYS:  New Year’s Resolutions That Never Stand a Chance.

Out here in the Sonoran Desert, we respect reality. We don’t hike at noon in August, we don’t argue with javelinas, and we don’t make New Year’s resolutions that tempt fate. Yet every January, perfectly sensible adults announce goals that have the life expectancy of a grocery-store poinsettia.

Take I will finally understand my phone. You’ll master one feature. Overnight, the phone will update and hide it. Face ID will stop recognizing you because you changed your glasses, and progress will move backward. Closely related is I will declutter completely, usually declared by someone who still owns cords for devices last seen during the Reagan administration. That drawer isn’t clutter—it’s a technology retirement community.

Then there’s I will stop complaining about the HOA, which isn’t a resolution so much as a vow of silence. Complaining about the HOA is emotional cardio. Remove it and half the community will need psychotherapy by February. I will go to bed earlier fares no better. You may lie down sooner, but that only gives your brain more time to replay something embarrassing from 1974 and reorganize the pantry in your head. Midnight remains undefeated.

I will eat sensibly all the time collapses the moment someone says, “We brought extra dessert just in case,” and no one ever clarifies in case of what. Some resolutions fail on a more personal level. 

I will be more patient assumes technology, traffic, and people who stop in doorways are ready to meet you halfway. I will stop losing my glasses cannot succeed against an object that is already on your head. That’s not aging—it’s physics.

I will work on improving my short-term memory is a particularly cruel resolution, usually announced by someone who has already forgotten why they walked into the room. You’ll download an app, misplace your phone, and then spend twenty minutes looking for the app you forgot you installed—on the phone you’re holding. By February, you won’t remember making this resolution, which, frankly, may be the healthiest outcome of all.

So here’s a resolution that actually works: I resolve to stop pretending I’m becoming someone else. You’re doing just fine—slightly disorganized, mildly cranky and forgetful, properly hydrated, and fully entitled to dessert in the desert. I learned the difference in grade school: the desert has one “s” and dessert has two—because you always want seconds. Out here, we take that lesson very seriously.

Have a Happy New Year. May your expectations be realistic and your resolutions comfortably abandoned by January 12th.

Sonoran Sue,   Out here in Fry’s bakery, prospecting among the two-day-old pastries…