Dear Neighbor,
It’s January — a new year filled with hope that this one will be better than all others. That means resolutions to be a better person, friend, parent or employee — an all around improved specimen over last year. Where does it all go south? Possibly (and probably long) before February rolls around, but a person’s gotta dream, right?
The vast majority of New Year’s resolutions involve physical and mental health. That said, I have the perfect way to kick off 2025: Fitbit.
I got mine a few years ago when two things coincided. First, my watch died. For years, I had two watches: one fancy piece from a swanky jewelry store for parties and events and another, a cheapie, meant only to tell the time. By the grace of God, it was the Walgreens plastic timepiece that ticked its last tock. Around the same time, I was reading David Sedaris’ essay “Stepping Out,” which extolled the virtues of the fabled Fitbit.
If you’re a Sedaris fan, you know it’s what got him walking near his Rackham, England, home. He noticed all the trash on his walks, turned them into cleanup missions, and collected so much garbage that West Sussex named a truck after him: Pig Pen Sedaris. He also lost a lot of weight.
That was all the endorsement I needed. Aware of my increasing sluggishness, I hoped this would upgrade things — specifically me. It did. What I wasn’t prepared for, and was delighted to discover, was how it would improve my attitude.
If this sounds like an infomercial, well, it is — but unlike most hucksters, you can trust me. I always look askance at famous people who hawk things they clearly don’t use. Do you really think Tom Selleck, with his estimated net worth of $45 million, has a reverse mortgage? Maybe if he lived in Buckingham Palace or the Taj Mahal, but I digress.
Before Fitbit, entering a parking lot put me on red alert, desperately searching for a “good” spot. When I couldn’t find one — or, worse yet, someone usurped what I thought was mine — I’d place silent hexes and curse every oversized car in sight. Now I shrug, park wherever there’s space and think of all the extra steps I’m about to get in.
The grocery store, once a nightmare of navigation and shifting layouts, has become an adventure. APB for guacamole. BOLO for crackers. Where are the olives? It doesn’t matter anymore. I treat these trips like Easter egg hunts, racking up steps while hunting down what I need. Smug satisfaction comes when I load my bags into the car, knowing I’ve chalked up hundreds of steps.
At home, it’s the same abracadabra. When I misplace something, instead of cursing, I embrace the search as a step-boosting opportunity. Basement laundry? Who cares! That’s more steps. From my second-floor desk to the basement and back: 123 steps. Each load of laundry involves three trips (loading, transferring to the dryer, bringing clean clothes upstairs), clocking a solid 369 steps — roughly 1/27th of the daily 10,000- step goal.
Ten thousand steps are about five miles, and whether you’re inside or outside, a step is a step is a step. Of course, I could walk around the lake — something I do often in the summer — but on brittle winter days, the jaws of life couldn’t pry me from my house.
So the pilgrimage continues indoors. Unloading the dishwasher? That’s 300 steps. Taking out the trash? Another 143. Shoveling snow or mowing the lawn can seal the deal.
And when I hit 10,000 steps, my wrist vibrates with a congratulatory tingle. Euphoria.
I don’t always hit 10,000 steps, but I try. The first time I reached that goal, my Fitbit awarded me a Sneakers Badge and emailed me a commendation — as close to relating to Simone Biles as I’ll ever get. I forwarded that email to my daughters, who printed it, framed it and presented it to me on Mother’s Day. That treasured gift now takes pride of place in my living room.
Here’s to 2025 — and to enjoying all the little parts of life.
