[*I wrote this post in January and just now found it in my drafts.]

My New Year’s Resolution (besides quitting smoking) was to fail spectacularly at something every week. The idea was to inoculate myself against a fear of failure while simultaneously forcing myself out of my comfort zone.

The fact that I struggled to remember what the Week One failure had been was in itself a lesson in letting go. But I went through emails, texts, and calendars until my browser history jogged my memory.

Week One:

Tweeted at Jenny Bicks, Sex and the City writer, and panicked/rejoiced so much when she responded that I didn’t read her tweet closely and answered the wrong question.

Week Two:

Got rejected for a job (didn’t even land an interview) by a nonprofit the same day I had tickets to attend one of their fundraisers, so I got to see the person who wrote the rejection email and the person I would have been assisting basking in their smug, cool job glory.

Week Three:

Got bamboozled into buying new tires for my car after having a blowout. Was so puffed up on the fact that I’d changed the tire by myself that I neglected to practice smart consumerism and marched in there ready to spend $800.