Living Fearlessly

"With hair like that, you oughta have more fun," my husband whistled Friday evening, when I came through the door. I had just been to my strategically planned, 6 weeks in advance, downplay-the-gray hair appointment. I looked in the hall mirror. "Oh my gosh," I whispered. "He's right. I should have more fun."

My hairdresser had left me a little long baking under the dryer. What appeared honey-wheat colored under the low lights of the salon now revealed itself to be popcorn blond - the shade of "more fun."

This morning I woke up (thank goodness) and I knew (finally) my New Year's Resolution. I've decided to live fearlessly, starting today. That means not simply existing from moment to moment, drifting wherever life takes me, but choosing my moments, driving my time, taking some risks, having more fun.

I started this afternoon by taking back a room in my house given over to laundry, storage, and clutter. I've avoided cleaning out the room because I didn't want to make decisions about the stuff. I didn't think I could ever get to the bottom of the pile. I agonized: What would be the point of the project, anyway? Why engage in an exercise of futility?

Good things are happening, though. Tonight, my city trashcan is full, I can see the floor, one of my children surprisingly hugged me and thanked me for my effort. And my husband has agreed that we will plunge forward and turn the space into a private den for the two of us, a love nest. Our own escape from the world.

One day down, the rest of the year to go, and tomorrow's Monday - a true test of my resolve. I have to go to work with my hair the hue of hand lotion. But I'm sticking with it, living fearlessly, even though I'm scared to death. The good thing is, since it took me three months to figure out my resolution, I only have nine months left to lose heart and break it. And, since most people have already dumped their resolutions by March, I'm ahead of the game.