It takes the earth 365 days to make it around the sun, and during that journey there are three times when invariably I try to reinvent myself: the start of the New Year, the season of Lent, and back to school time. It's not that I don't like myself, but rather, I am acutely aware of some areas that could use, ahem, improvement. I don't approach my attempts at betterment with any stress or anxiety. The opposite is true. I love them. I relish them. They energize and invigorate me.

I know, I'm weird. 

Here's a run-down of how the end of the year and the beginning of the next always shape up for me. Christmas comes and goes. I go shopping to buy a bunch of stuff that I don't need for 70-90% off. I feel good about the bargains, and then feel a primal urge to clean and organize so that I can find places for the new Christmas gifts and after-Christmas impulse buys. I resolve to be more organized in the new year. 

I read all the things that have titles like Top 10 Funny Cat Jokes of 2015 solely because they include the words "top" and "of 2015." I listen to any kind of countdown that I hear on the radio (although, I listen to the radio a lot less these days, and sadly my Hipster Cocktail Party station on Pandora doesn't indulge my love of countdowns). And back when I used to keep a diary, every year I wrote an entry with all of my personal highlights (and lowlights) by month. I fondly think back to that simpler time every late-December, lament that I don't keep a journal anymore, and resolve to to start doing that again.

On New Year's Eve, I over-indulge. New Year's Eve is like the cherry on top of a month of everything too much. With each bite and sip I tell myself, "Enjoy - in the new year, you're not eating stuff with gluten in it! No more chocolate for you! No more fried foods!" (Of course that usually doesn't last much longer than the hangover.) Thank goodness there's Lent so that I can pick up the pieces (and I don't mean Reese's). 

Then on the morning of New Year's Day, I drive everyone in my household crazy by narrating the entire day. When I get dressed, I say: "That's the first time I've gotten dressed in the new year!" When I watch the Rose Bowl Parade on TV, I exclaim: "The first parade of the new year!" When Mike rolls his eyes and says "Enough!" I respond with, "First time I've annoyed Mike in the new year!" (Seriously, try it. It's a lot of fun.)

Why do I love the new year so much? I think there's something to be said about wanting to be better. First, resolutions usually require a person consciously to desire to step out of the status quo and onto a different path. Resolutions admonish inertia and reward personal growth. Second, in order to recognize how we can improve, we must be self-reflexive. Making new year's resolutions is an opportunity to reassess our goals and priorities, and to figure out whether we've gotten off track. Third, the belief (even if naive) that we can improve ourselves means that we acknowledge our personal power. We are the ones who can make a difference in our lives - we're able to do that. Even if we're only able to make positive changes for a month, or week, or even less, at least we did a little bit of good for ourselves. And if we did it once, surely we can do it again. 

Of course, some people think that folks who make resolutions are just setting themselves up for failure. Others eschew resolutions because they think that if something is a good idea on January 1st then it's also a good idea on any random Tuesday. They don't understand why people wait until the new year to try out personal improvement strategies.

I say that the key to a good new year's resolution is to reframe what success looks like. Resolutions are often big things - lose weight, stop smoking, stop eating sugar, get a new job. It's really hard to achieve big things, but it's not all that hard to do little things that are steps in the right direction. If you want to lose 100 pounds, it's going to be a long time before you get there. But you might lose 2 pounds by next week, and that is a reason to celebrate. You probably won't have a new job by the end of January, but the fact that you applied for 5 positions is a reason to pat yourself on the back. Celebrate the increments, and you're much more likely to get to the finish line.

And yeah -  good ideas for ourselves are good ideas, no matter the date on the calendar. The thing about new year's resolutions, though, is that there's awesome momentum. There's not a sense that we're trying to do this all alone. Me and about 65 million friends are all trying to lose weight. It's just a fact that all of my coworkers aren't likely to start brown-bagging their lunches on the third Thursday in March. But they might all start doing it during the first week of January, and that might make it easier for me to do it too. 

My personal resolutions aren't all that exciting.  I want to lose weight and be healthier (and I plan to do it by trying to eat foods that are anti-inflammatory). I want to be more organized (and use my Sortly app to inventory the contents of my household).  I want to spend more time on creative endeavors. I want to spend more quality time with my family. I want to live in a cleaner house. I want to garden more. There's no measure of "success" for any of my resolutions. I just don't want binge watching shows on Netflix to be my focus in 2016. As time goes on, maybe I'll find myself eating more vitamins and  gazing upon blooming flower vistas from inside my not-so-filthy house. Those simple things would be a win, y'all. 

Wherever you fall on the resolution spectrum, from the resolvers to the naysayers, I hope that you have a wonderful New Year full of personal growth and a whole heckuva lotta good things. And have no fear if you're back to your degenerate ways by MLK Day. Good things love second chances. 

Yesterday, I watched the Tina Fey and Amy Pohler SNL video about their Dope Squad, the folks that they rely on every day to help make their lives moving in the right direction. We all know that it takes a village. It's not a coincidence that when people try to get stuff done that they form collectives and cooperatives. Simply put, we need community in our lives.  The road is too hard to go it alone.

After everyone left from Cafe Davis night #12, Mike and Jeff cleared the table while I got the kiddo to sleep. Then I came downstairs to find them folding up the tables (hate to ruin the magic, but that giant table is really three folding tables), and then suddenly the room felt empty. After all of the energy of 12 days of revelry, of making new friends, of forging new connections, and of building new relationships, the room was just a room again. It simultaneously felt gratifying to be done, and a little sad that it won't happen again for another year. 

But the solace in waiting for 12 pages of the monthly calendar to flip by before we do this again is knowing that the folks who show up for Cafe Davis are part of our squad, our village, our collective, and our cooperative. I say that because while it means so much to us that you all show up for dinner, we also know that you all are the type of people who show up, period. We know that you show up for your friends, family, colleagues and neighbors when they need a helping hand. We know that you show up for your community when there's an opportunity to make it better. We know that when there's an opportunity to be a dreamer, do-er, collaborator, innovator, or inspirer, you show up.

So thanks for being part of our squad. Hopefully we'll see you sometime before next December. But if we have to wait that long, I look forward to hearing all about the awesome things I know that you will accomplish in 2016. And thanks in advance for showing up. :)

We're four days in. Café Davis is moving along at a rapid clip of do the dishes, clean, cook, set the table, relax and enjoy each others' company, repeat. Besides Saturday when I needed a power nap like no one's business, all is going well. We've fed a bunch of people, laughed a whole lot, and even had an impromptu sing-a-long to It Takes Two by Rob Base and DJ EZ Rock (you know you clicked on the link, cranked the volume, and sang along... no shame). In fact, the sing-a-long was so much fun that we segued into a dance party. Good times. 

But the thing that I want to elaborate on today is a comment Mike made last night while clearing the table: "Café Davis really shows that everyone is interesting." I think that we often tend to downplay the richness of our own stories. I've written before about how people don't like to toot their own horns for fear of sounding like bragging, but no one truly enjoys a convo full of soundbites about the weather. No one walks away from soundbites feeling particularly engaged or enriched. Opening our doors a little teeny bit so that people can peek inside to who we really are, however, is the stuff of true connection. 

During Café Davis every night, between eating dinner and serving dessert, we go around the table and ask people to introduce themselves. There's no rule to this activity - the point is to help people put names with faces and kinda get a sense of who the other folks are sitting around the table. There are a lot of people who show up at Café Davis that I don't know (huge props to the brave!), and I also really appreciate the opportunity to hear a bit more about the guests. And the awesome part is that during this introduction period, sh*t can get magical. Introductions mean that Rob Base sing-a-longs become a possibility, and as hosts, there's nothing better that we could ask for (unless a guest brought a winning lottery ticket as a hostess gift, which really isn't that bad of an idea now that I think of it....)

But back to introductions and my point in all of this rambling... it's kind of funny because when I announce that we all have to introduce ourselves, guests often wriggle in their seats and look a little uncomfortable. Then when it's their turn, they'll preface their introduction with a disclaimer about their boring life. I want to say here and now that any story you're telling yourself about your boring life is just not true. We all have the same number of hours in each day, and we choose to fill them somehow. We should all trust our choices, and feel free to share quotidian details with others. We all love to hear the details of each other's lives,  primarily because we can find commonality or difference in them. Then we experience that pleasing little "ah-ha!" moment when we think, "OMG - that reminds me of something! I have a story to share! Be polite... don't interrupt! Don't interrupt!" (Fact: that internal dialog may be more subconscious for some than for others). Sharing even the tiniest morsel of ourselves is often all the fodder we need to get the conversational ball rolling.  

​So, here's my challenge to you. The next time you're faced with a dreaded small-talk moment. Take a deep breath and think of something self-affirming. Think of the one thing that has made you happy in that day, week, or month, and tell someone else about it. You'll be starting a conversation in a positive and upbeat manner. You'll seem friendly and open. And for those of you who still have Café Davis reservations, go ahead and think of an interesting nugget to share. I'm not lying when I say that I can hardly wait to hear it!

Over the next 12 days, what I write about here also will likely be posted on the Cafe Davis blog as well. For the uninitiated, Cafe Davis is probably one of the most crazy-pants things that we do as a family. It's 12 evenings of dinner parties, hosted in our home, with 12 invited guests each night. Everyone we know is invited, and sometimes even people we don't know (hello friend of a friend!). We've been doing this for 14 years, and we even used to host for THIRTY days. Thank goodness we've come to our senses. [winky emoji]

One of the most common questions we get is "Why do you do this?" My answer is usually pretty lame: "It's fun." But really, the answer is more than that. The whole shebang started as an attempt merely to get some busy friends together for dinner. Obviously it snowballed into something much bigger because, as it turns out, people like connecting with each other. And Mike and I like being the connectors. 

Last night, we had a group of guests who, for the most part, didn't necessarily know each other all that well. Around the table there were 20-, 30- and 40-somethings, students and professionals. As the conversation unrolled, I heard at least 4 people declare themselves to be new BFFs. People bonded over - among other things - online gaming, laser tag, life in Southern California (I would use the interstate exchange/area code lingo, but I'm not that hip),  Disney World, New Kids on the Block, and competitive yearbooking (yes, that's apparently a real thing). New friends became Facebook official. There was a lot of laughter. 

So lemme think of a better answer for why we do this... I'll start with some observations I've gleaned from over the years. We know that it doesn't really matter what we're serving for dinner, it matters who we're eating food with. And we also know that when we make conscious efforts to invite people in, that we are transformed as well. We have the intentional goal of not only feeding guests some yummy noms, but also to invite a diverse group of people to chow down with us. After doing this for 14 years, we absolutely know that who the guests are impacts everyone's experience. We've also seen over and over again how the chance for authentic connection and good food feed the human spirit. 

But why TWELVE nights of dinner parties?!!? Well, because I used to have 12 cute holiday dessert plates. And also because through doing this, we've realized that the promise of hospitality comes into crystal clear focus when taken to the extreme. Yeah, it's fun to go out to dinner with friends or to make small talk with a stranger at a holiday party, but it's not remarkable. Café Davis is intentionally designed to be outside the norm. Even if the practice of going to a dinner party seems routine, the production that goes into hosting 12 of them in a row is something altogether different. It's our attempt of offering the utmost of ourselves so that everyone in attendance can feel like they have deepened their connections in our community. They are part of something experienced by at least 130-144 other people. We host Café Davis because we are made for community. 

The Persian poet Rumi wrote about hospitality in the 13th century: "This being human is a guest house. ... Welcome and entertain them all...meet them at the door laughing, and invite them in. Be grateful for whoever comes, because each has been sent as a guide from beyond." We appreciate each of you who have ever joined us or who plan to be part of Café Davis this year. If you haven't made reservations yet there are still a few reservations available. We look forward to inviting you in!