Now, since I'm both a poetry fan and a stat's lover, I'm going to share both of those things with you on this chilly January morning.
First, the stats. Roughly 75% of the new year's resolutions made by Americans are still going strong right now since we're only on Day 8 of 2015. By the start of next month, that number will be down to roughly 64%, and within six months, it'll be at about the 46% line. By year's end, only 8% of Americans who resolutely made promises to themselves will have actually fulfilled said promises. I am proud to report that I am part of the 17% of Americans who infrequently make any such demands of myself, but the few times I have, I have had a 100% success rate.
Furthermore, in case you're curious, 45% of Americans usually make new year's resolutions, and of that massive group, a whopping 24% of them have NEVER succeeded with theirs. So if you're not hardcore devoted like me and you don't succeed in your year's goal to lose weight, get organized, spend less/save more, enjoy life to the fullest, stay fit and healthy, learn something exciting, quit smoking, help others in their dreams, fall in love and/or spend more time with family, since those are the grand majority of new year's resolutions, you can at least take comfort in knowing that you are just one of 76.8 million Americans to do so, so don't beat yourself up too bad over it. Keep your head up and just try again next year, I suppose.
This year, I did make a resolution for the first time since 2007, and that was to try to make the world a better place in whatever way I could. That said, I will now share a poem with you that I first remember reading a few year's back when I was struggling to make rent and going through a bit of a necessitated frugal spending period. I had just started a new job downtown, and so I was testing out the waters of doing lunch with my fellow colleagues. During the walk back from McDonald's, one of the homeless people downtown came up to us with outstretched hands. I knew I couldn't give away any money because, well, I just couldn't afford to, so I did the next best thing -- I gave the man the hot fudge sundae I had bought to eat later in the day.
No joke, we walked about a block away, and one of my colleagues looks back and tells me that the guy had just thrown that still-unopened dessert in the garbage bin. Apparently, the man just wanted our money, not actual food like he had claimed. It made me really mad that afternoon that I had sacrificed my dessert for a homeless person, who in turn thanked me by throwing it in the garbage, uneaten.
One of my colleagues said, "don't get mad, you still did the right thing as a person," which made me feel better about what had just happened... until it also sparked a debate between her and a male colleague of mine who initially stated, "that's why I don't give anybody anything, ever! Nobody appreciates squat! Plus, if you give them something one day, they'll expect something everyday!!" I kind of just stayed out of that debate because I knew I would be responding emotionally to the situation, rather than logically, and I never want to be THAT guy. Plus, I know myself and I know I'm a giver who would rather give and get hurt than turn a blind eye to somebody in need. The reason I'm relating this story, though, isn't to put myself up on a soapbox. Trust me, I'm just as human as anybody else and make just as many mistakes as the average American, so I'm not really all that special.
Instead, it's to introduce a poem. See, when we got back to the office that day, the female colleague that told me I'd done the right thing e-mailed everybody in that lunch group the following poem. It was the first time I'd ever read this one, so it kind of touched me a bit and made me feel good about my earlier decision again.
So lets kick off 2015 the right way by always remembering that "sharing is caring," and this is just the start of me attempting to fulfill my new year's resolution this year by spreading the good word and opening up the eyes of anybody who reads this. Enjoy, and once again, HAPPY NEW YEAR!!
"The Cold Within"
By: James Patrick Kinney
Six humans trapped by happenstance
In bleak and bitter cold.
Each one possessed a stick of wood
Or so the story’s told.
Their dying fire in need of logs
The first man held his back
For of the faces round the fire
He noticed one was black.
The next man looking ‘cross the way
Saw one not of his church
And couldn’t bring himself to give
The fire his stick of birch.
The third one sat in tattered clothes.
He gave his coat a hitch.
Why should his log be put to use
To warm the idle rich?
The rich man just sat back and thought
Of the wealth he had in store
And how to keep what he had earned
From the lazy shiftless poor.
The black man’s face bespoke revenge
As the fire passed from his sight.
For all he saw in his stick of wood
Was a chance to spite the white.
The last man of this forlorn group
Did nought except for gain.
Giving only to those who gave
Was how he played the game.
Their logs held tight in death’s still hands
Was proof of human sin.
They didn’t die from the cold without
They died from the cold within.
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