Five years ago I met a man who told me that life is an experiment. I think his intention was to get me to relax. But being a science junkie, I took his advice to the extreme. I started conducting “experiments” (This will be the only time I put the quotation marks around the word experiment, if only because the word appears so many times on this blog.) I asked myself what I could give up, what I could do without for a month. Alcohol? TV? Meat? Dairy? Cuss words? Snark? I attempted them all, with varying degrees of success.
There were months off, where my addictions, crutches and desires could run amok. But I realized how powerful the “container” of a month was. I could attempt anything for 30-ish days, no matter how shocking to the system, with the end in site, a few hash marks on the calendar away.
I learned so much about myself, my body and my how my mind worked. And I had nothing to show for it (unless you count a changed perspective and a new outlook, blah, blah, blah). I needed to formalize the process. To write down what I did and how it felt. To capture the things I saw and the connections I made.
Hence this blog, A Year of Months, my formal attempt to capture the process, results and the repercussions of my experiments.
Most of the experiments are about stripping away the layers of junk to get to the essentials of life. What do I really need to be content? But some will be about adding on. What should I include in my life to feel whole? Some experiments are just for fun and some address serious concerns about my health and well-being. All of them should teach me something about that “self” that I am inching towards.
A Year of Months is more than a rookie website. I want it to be an interactive community. So while I dive into a new experiment each month and try to avoid excessive use of quotation marks (hmmm, future experiment?), please join in. Tell me what you like, what you’ve always wanted to try (but would rather watch me try first), what you think. See the About You tab for other ideas on how to participate.
And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to put on my safety goggles and get to work.