New Years Resolutions
As 2024 comes to its inevitable end, there is so much to reflect upon. I wasn’t always one for new years resolutions, but I think after the past couple of years I am going to become someone who is.
For example, in 2023, my new year's resolution was to watch the sunset every night. Why? Because why not? It’s a beautiful thing to build into your routine. The start of the year coincided with the start of my second semester of my junior year at UC Berkeley, and I happened to live in this shitty little apartment which had roof access if you just jumped the fence with the sign that said “no roof access allowed!”.
Looking east, the Berkeley hills were golden with the setting sunlight. It’s this beautiful picture of greens and yellows, with little houses dotting the hills; the occasional gleam of light reflecting from someone's window; like a Bob Ross painting on performance-enhancing drugs. To the west, there was a mostly clear view toward the ocean, squinting you might be able to make out the shape and the familiar red of the Golden Gate bridge.
So I tried to spend my evenings up top the roof, doing a couple sun salutations, smoking a joint, chatting with friends, or just meditating on the beauty of it.
I’d say I managed about an 80% sunset attendance rate for the first six months of the year, right up until I moved to a building in West Berkeley that had no roof access. That sucked. It wasn’t until then that I realized just how important those moments of silent gratitude were; the excuse it offered to force me into a sense of grounding, no matter what sort of day had unfolded.
I have never once regretted watching a sunset. Never did it feel like a waste of time. But in that second apartment, getting myself to hike the fire trails up in the Berkeley Hills dragged me. Every day I thought, “I’d love to go up there and watch the sunset,” but then I’d make some excuse and I wouldn’t, and not only would I regret it but I actually turn into a self loathing pessimist about the world and my purpose in it.
Honestly, it’s the same avoidant attachment pattern I have with a lot of things: swimming, working out, and, honestly, calling my family on the telephone. I know I’ll feel better—lighter, even—after I do it, but for some reason until I do it, it feels impossible.
So to make things easier on myself and my psyche, I think it’s best I make roofs and a west-facing view a non-negotiable in the next place I live.
By the end of 2023, I probably only caught about half the sunsets that year had to offer. However, I don’t feel like I failed at the goal. I now know the importance of the little things in life that make me happy. And it’s free, and it happens everyday—without fail. Sometimes soft with buttery pinks and purples, or deep, sharp reds and oranges that light up the sky, or sometimes the cloud cover is so thick that it's like someone is slowly turning down the brightness until eventually– poof– it’s gone. Taking even a second to find awe in such a beautiful, special, grand thing, offers a moment of grounding if nothing else.
Hopefully I am not forgetting anything, but I only really had two resolutions this year of 2024: to quit vaping & to achieve my Goodreads Challenge.
I started vaping when I was probably 16 or 17. Everyone around me was vaping: the cool kids at school, the not cool kids at school, the teachers at school, the athletes and the mathletes at school. It took me quite a while to succumb to peer pressure. Not because I was so against vaping—but because I was scared. And not even because I was scared that it was bad for me or my health. No, I was scared that I would ‘hit’ the vape, and I would cough. And coughing is embarrassing.
So, how did I overcome the fear of taking someone up on their vape offer and coughing like the fragile little girl that I was? I decided the best course of action was to buy my own vape and practice at home. Brilliant.
Needless to say, that got me started for the next 6 years.
As I put my addiction to flavored nicotine air to bed, I share with you some of my favorite vaping memories in no particular order:
This girl my friends and I used to hang out with in high school was so addicted to vaping and always had one with her. She’d go through at least a pod a day, which, for the uninitiated, is both financially and morally unsustainable, but that meant you could always count on her to have one. However, it wasn’t cheap. This girl was a master swindler. She was incredibly rude and conniving and manipulative. I don’t know why we hung out with her. Other than that though, she was also stingy as hell. She would let you hit her juul, but you know what it would cost you? Three rips for $5 plus a 25¢ fee so she could ‘transfer the Venmo to her bank account’. Insanity. I blame late stage capitalism.
Then there was the time I completely miscommunicated with my friend Liza about my love for “hotboxing myself in the shower.” In my mind, this was a poetic way of describing how I took ridiculously hot showers—the kind that fog up the mirrors with steam. But apparently, Liza took this a bit more literally. The next time I saw her, she looked genuinely puzzled. “Leah,” she said, dead serious, “I just don’t understand how you do it. I tried, like, really tried, and I couldn’t make it work.”. I didn’t understand what on earth she was talking about until I realized she literally thought I had been hotboxing myself in the shower with vape smoke. That’s when it hit me: I burst out laughing, picturing her standing naked in her shower, furiously puffing, in out in out in out valiantly trying to create her own vape sauna, only to fail miserably as the smoke dissipated before her eyes.
My friend had told me her parents had borrowed her car one night and returned from their outing very upset. They were convinced that the Fabreeze she sprayed in her car to keep it smelling nice was in fact vape residue. Her dad had told her, “we're not dumb Jules. We’ve been around the block a few times. Don’t try to play us”. Vape residue!
After I graduated high school, all my friends and I drove out to this farm in West Virginia for our graduation trip—classy I know. Naturally, someone came up with the brilliant idea to hit everyone’s vapes at the same time. Because nothing says, “We’re ready for adulthood!” like a group vape relay in the backwoods. Although this was no new concept, people are always trying to double rip, there were like 6 of us in the car and we each had at least one vape. Someone snapped a photo of me at the height of my delinquency—a gaggle of little plastic cancer sticks jammed into my mouth, my eyes bulging like I’d just swallowed a fish. We thought we were hilarious and cool. In hindsight, we were neither. Frankly, someone should’ve pulled up and delivered a well-deserved slap to all of us.
Jess was the first friend I had at Berkeley besides my roommates. We met online on the instagram page for newly accepted students. I even asked her to room with me, but she opted for the random roommate lottery instead. Bold choice. Of course, the pandemic wrecked all of those freshman dorm plans, and we ended up in separate apartments instead. Jess’s roommates were strict—like, “sanitize your groceries and don’t breathe near the toaster” kind of strict. Meanwhile, I wouldn’t call myself a superspreader, but I also wouldn’t be headlining any WHO PSAs. Jess, however, wasn’t allowed to set foot in anyone else’s apartment. So she’d tell her roommates she was “going on a walk” with me, and then we’d sneak back to my place to vape. Those covert nicotine missions really solidified our bond. And honestly? I’m glad they did. Jess is still one of my dearest friends, and I’ll forever be grateful that our freshman-year rebellion brought us together. Because nothing says “lifelong friendship” like defying pandemic guidelines for a vape break.
My second semester my freshman year I moved into an apartment with three juniors, all of whom I came to cherish dearly. Together, we formed the most unhinged group I’ve ever been a part of. We partied, we drank, we hooked up. Sometimes together, sometimes with each other, but always—and I mean always—we shared the stories afterward. One afternoon, Tess came home around 3pm and shared the following story with us: She and the guy she was seeing decided their chem lecture was unbearably dull (classic), so they slipped out early and headed to the library’s main stacks and decided to christen the archives. He perched her on one of the bookshelves, kissed his way down her stomach and up her inner thigh, and then paused—he looked at her with a sort of innocence in his eyes a young boy might have when he knows he is about to ask something wrong, “Can I put it in you and hit it?” were the words that came from his mouth—no more than a whisper. Now, this might sound like regular spicy talk, but let me clarify: the “it” wasn’t anything biological. It was a Super Berry Blast-flavored vape, and “hitting it” referred to using said vape while it was inside Tess—not the usual meaning the phrase implies during intimate activities.
Such a silly little thing is the invention of flavored vaporizers. Who would have known the impact it would have on this generation of people. I tried to give it up for years. I tried to quit vaping for years. I wasn’t someone who needed nicotine; I’d go a week without it and smugly think, Wow, I'm not even addicted. I could stop whenever I want. Which, of course, led me to the equally flawed logic of, So I guess I can start whenever I want, too.
But when I turned 21, I decided enough was enough. I dramatically declared to the universe that I was done with vapes. That resolve lasted… about a week. Humbling.
When 2024 rolled around, I decided to give it another shot, this time with the added gravitas of a New Year’s resolution. And you know what? I crushed it. Not a single puff, rip, hit, smack, or taste the entire year.
As for my other resolution regarding my Goodreads challenge, it’s another story. As it deserved it’s own post, more on that another time.