Okay, here it is. September. Time to get my keister in gear, my ducks in a row. After many glorious weeks of unbridled sloth and delicious, self-indulgent torpor, it’s time to put myself in harness and get disciplined. Summer is over, people. Time to ditch the flipflops, the food on skewers, and the Plexiglas tumblers. Now it’s time for sensible shoes, meatloaf, and a plan.

And why? Because it’s September. And everyone knows the New Year begins in September and not January. January is only the New Year for people in the calendar business. For everyone else, the New Year begins with back-to-school shopping, new notebooks, fresh Ticonderoga number 2s and a clean record. And even if, like me, you’re not going back to school, you know, deep down in your soul, you need a ream of loose leaf at this time of year.

But it’s hard to become disciplined when you’re not going back to school, School makes it easy because all you have to do is fall in line, and the feet march by themselves. School has a structure, a timetable, and built-in accountability in the form of tests. Even the goal-setting is done for you by the teachers.

So what do you do when this irresistible urge for a new beginning, a new project, a new “you” overtakes you and they no longer let you ride Bus 18?

You make up your own project. You build your own timetable. You establish your own goals. This is what I do, anyway. But sadly, my homemade projects usually die quiet little deaths that no one talks about. Especially me.

Here’s what happens. I start out small, with one totally manageable little thing that I vow to do every day: write in my journal for a half hour, say. Two weeks pass and I have been diligent and disciplined. No misses. I feel great. My life has a new feeling of order and control. I feel more creative and spacious and grounded. I think: Hmm, if I can do this, I probably should be meditating everyday too. So I add a half hour of meditation to the half hour of writing. Things go along fine for a week, 10 days. I then think: what about the gym? I really need to be going to the gym everyday, too. So on top of writing and meditating I add 30 minutes at the gym. You see what’s coming, don’t you? The Jenga block pile of Worthy Self-Improvement Projects comes crashing down. I begin to float, anchor-less, without the projects that gave my life stability and balance. But I am not a happy little boat going with the flow. Oh no. I am a grouchy, old, captain-less garbage barge threatening to come ashore at a town near you.

So here’s the new plan. One thing. Small. Really small. Do-able. I will do this one, small, do-able thing for 30 minutes a day for 30 days in a row. That’s it. It has to be a positive, good thing, too. Expansive as opposed to restrictive; something I am always saying I want to do and should do, but always seem to run out of day before it gets done.

What I have decided to do for the next 30 days is meditate. Other things I considered were: read for pleasure, walk, play a musical instrument, practice tai chi, take my camera for a walk, and write in my journal. But meditation is my pick. At the end of 30 days of daily meditation I will re-commit to another 30, but I won’t add anything else, hopefully upping the odds for success.

Yeah, this will be good for me. A disciplined activity always makes me feel grounded, productive and creative. It also meets my need to create a new beginning, to celebrate the “New Year.”

I have a friend who says that every new resolution begins with a new acquisition, and it is in this spirit that I find myself trolling the back-to-school aisle, considering pens, examining binders, eying packs of 3x 5 index cards. I can’t seem to find any back-to-school meditation supplies.

But maybe I could buy a new notebook to write down my mantras. And maybe a planner pad for tracking my 30 day progress. And while I’m at it, I could always use a package of Pilot Precise Grip gel pens, the fine pointed ones, for jotting down all the new insights and mind blowing revelations I will have. Of course. That’s better.

Now, time to slip into some sensible shoes and start the meatloaf.