Discipline, Discomfort… Kid Leather Boots

I haven’t written about me and the city in so long I hardly know where to begin…

The weather, fantastic. Was it really 70 degrees on Saturday, Broadway warm and breezy?

My friends are delightful as ever, one after the other gleefully announcing that their boyfriends and husbands delivered late Christmas gifts—babies. Yes, all the lady friends are enceinte and tragically unable to share a bottle of “Hitching Post” with their twenty-something neighbor. But, I’m elated for them (and wisely stockpiling my booze money so I can afford birthday gifts for all the Virgo/Libra babies comin’ to town).

The boots in that Madison Avenue window have gone on super sale. I can finally afford to channel Catherine Zeta-Jones, circa “Zoro,” in black kid leather and jaunt over to “Payard” for my ritual post-shopping indulgence—a pistachio macaroon and an espresso, tight.

That’s my superficial January. My reflective January—the one that makes me consider my mistakes, my clean breaks, my desires, my regrets—is a little more complicated. Is it possible to start anew? Do I need to reconfigure my dreams in order to make them more attainable? Are we all making grand promises in the month of January simply to mitigate the previous year’s failures? Or, can some of us (read: me) really stick to our favorite maxims, the ones typed out and tacked to the refrigerator between our First Grade school picture and a “Tiffany’s” jewelry advertisement?

“Discipline is remembering what you want.”
“In life, do not run away from discomfort.”

Here goes nothin.’