Full Stop

In my family, we celebrate New Year’s Day by eating too much lasagna and unveiling our resolutions — which we, like everyone else, are likely to break. Studies have shown that only 9% of people who make resolutions are successful in keeping them. Albert Einstein lived through this holiday 76 times, which might explain how he came up with one of his most famous quotes: “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again but expecting different results.”

I’ve never made it even to Valentine’s Day with to-do resolutions such as hit the pool three days a week or eat more kale. So instead of resolving to do more things this year, I’m going to try to do less, starting in my Lower Manhattan co-op. The idea came to me as I stuffed my post-holiday trash into our jam-packed garbage room. The complaint I was drafting in my head while making a futile search for space in overflowing bins wouldn’t give the board magical powers to grow a bigger room or have garbage pickup day come any sooner.

My new resolve is to give up starting down roads that go nowhere. Here’s my co-op not-to-do list. In 2024, I won’t: 

1. Complain to the board about the garbage room. Even if the board were to conjure up a larger room with more bins and great ventilation, shareholders probably still would get a grade of C-minus in correctly sorting and bagging refuse and recyclables and an F in flattening cardboard boxes. 

2. Feel guilty about not flattening my cardboard boxes. In my defense, I don’t just toss them in the garbage room. I nestle them, smaller boxes into larger boxes, like Russian matryoshka dolls, before placing them on the room’s workbench. Disassembling and tying up all the boxes that arrive at my door daily is too much to ask. When it comes to infractions, I’m more worried about getting caught by a board member for leaving my wet shoes in the hall. 

3. Stress about leaving wet shoes in the hall. While the board has issued fines for leaving bikes and strollers in the hall, so far it hasn’t brought down the hammer on a few pairs of soggy shareholder shoes. 

4. Complain about the cost of complying with the Facade Inspection and Safety Program. In my building, shareholders vent to the board when it pushes long-needed repairs into a distant, more expensive future while it levies seemingly endless assessments to comply with the ever-growing list of city demands. This year, I’ll vent by sending emails to the mayor and my City Council member instead.

5. Object to the board’s proposal to ban gas stoves to reduce carbon emissions as required by Local Law 97. It would be pointless to point out to the board again that I already air-dry my clothes on a drying rack, never turn on my radiator, prefer fans to air conditioners and don’t have a gas fireplace to vent. Equally futile would be repeating my offer to get rid of my hair dryer, clothes iron and electric pencil sharpener in exchange for keeping my gas stove. 

6. Petition the roof committee to plant herbs instead of hibiscus. While the rest of my neighbors enjoy the colorful, fragrant, well-tended community garden, I’m allergic to the bees who enjoy it as well. Instead of lobbying against the majority for an herb garden — like one I saw in an ad for a cabin in coastal Maine — I’ll pick up my book and head to a flowerless section of the nearby river park.  

7. Walk up the fire stairwell stairs to reduce wear and tear on our one, wonky elevator. Replacing the elevator is the only true fix. Until the board finds the money and shareholders have the will, the 90-year-old contraption will continue to break down — whether I use it or not. 

8. Commit to memory the name of the latest managing agent. After our small management company was purchased by a much larger one, our longtime agent retired and has been replaced by a revolving door of short-term substitutes. Until someone stays for more than a few weeks, our new agent will be called The New Agent. 

9. Ask the super if I can take his cherry-red riding snowblower for a spin. This winter I haven’t yet brought up my annual — and mostly joking — request. In the past he’s been seriously clear: Only the super rides the snowblower. And if I can’t wait for him to clear the sidewalk, he reminds me, the shovel is on the hook next to the door.

10. Make more than 10 resolutions.