Sometimes I have a lot of noise in my life. I have a long to-do list that grows longer when people try to make helpful suggestions on what to do to “improve” my life…join more online or in-person communities, log more reading, find a new diet, join their work-out group, change my body, change my routines. Don’t get me wrong—there’s nothing wrong with any of these suggestions. I do watch what I eat because of health conditions. I do read quite a lot. I walk at least a minimum of a mile daily and stretch morning and night. I teach and edit and write because I love it.

The noise comes, though, when I feel pressured to change to be someone else…to compete with someone…to binge watch a show just because everyone else is talking about it…to log how many books I read last month. At my age, I realized that I need to do things because they are right for me and do them when they are right for me.

I don’t want to go through life competing with anyone. I also don’t want to carry unnecessary guilt because I failed to reach a reading goal or didn’t make it to a scheduled work-out. I like accountability in life, but there’s a loving way to wish the best for me and there’s a noisy way to make me feel as if I need to completely change who I am in order to keep up with society’s latest trends.

Here’a a very short story (just for fun) to help us remember that we can walk away from the noise.

First Weekend Out

By Chris Pepple

We sat in the restaurant in Eureka Springs celebrating the first dinner of this year’s “First Weekend Out.” For the past five years, my friend group had driven into the Arkansas mountains on the first full weekend of the year. Everyone came without children, dates, or spouses—just the six of us chatting about our holidays and resetting ourselves for the new year ahead. Last year, the snow kept us indoors most of the weekend. This year’s warm spell let us take our talks out of our rooms and walk to a nearby restaurant to share chicken pesto flatbread pizzas and vegan wraps with avocados and artichokes.

“Look at this,” Elizabeth smiled, holding her phone up. “Let’s all download this app and keep up with our exercise goals together. Maybe challenge each other and log our weight loss. I need to fit into my size eight jeans again this year.”

“Size eight?” Robin asked with a smirk on her face. “I’ll challenge you to a size six. Send me the link to that. I’m in.”

I don’t guess I’ll mention that I’m a size ten, I thought to myself as I opened the link she sent. And I’m only that because of being so sick in October. Otherwise, I’d still be sitting in this chair in my size twelve pants. I looked over at Emily. She pretended not be bothered, but I could tell she would rather be anywhere else. As beautiful as I knew she was, I also knew she was self-conscious about talking about weight. “Hey,” I blurted out, hoping to change the subject, “it’s supposed to be nice tomorrow. Let’s hike after lunch.”

Emily and I pulled up our trail apps to decide which one to take. While we were chatting, Sandra interrupted. “Sarah, did you finish your online profile? You have to meet someone so you can tell us who you’re almost engaged to next year.” I could feel my cheeks redden. “I still think Michael was a great fit for you.”

“Michael was a great fit for himself,” I replied. “Very self-absorbed. Let’s hike the Lake Leatherwood trail if it’s in good shape. I’ll ask at the desk before we call it a night.” That suggestion thankfully succeeded in changing the conversation away from my dating prospects.

Before the last set of music had been played by the band, Jenn had passed out journals so we could set our resolutions for the year. She had printed off each of our goals from last year so we could assess how we did in meeting them. We could score ourselves by the percentage of each goal achieved. If I hated math and percentages in high school, I certainly hated it here in a restaurant with music and friends. What percentage of people would think this is fun? I wondered as I stared at my printout and the journal I was supposed to fill as I rated myself.

When my phone vibrated, I grabbed it and announced I had to take a call. I picked up my journal and walked away, heading outside as the call went to voicemail. I considered going to the room and texting that I didn’t feel well, but the night sky seemed to be calling me.

As I made my way down the path, I spotted a roaring fire in the fire pit just off the walkway. I could hear people chatting and stopped to enjoy the sound of their voices mixed with occasional laughter. I didn’t realize someone had walked up behind me.

“You should join them,” the deep voice behind me said as I jumped a bit. “Sorry—didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Justin. I was just bringing more wood for the fire. It’s a great community space. There are some extra seats if you want to hang out.”

“Well, I’m with friends at the restaurant. I probably should get back,” I said as I glanced back at the building I had left.

“The night’s too nice to go back in there. The weather’s going to be horrible next week. Enjoy the outdoors and the stars while you can.”

I followed him over and found a seat on a bench, sharing it with one other person. Everyone around the fire introduced themselves, and we all chatted about where we were from. The woman in a beautifully knitted lavender sweater who shared the bench with me added, “We were just talking about the books we’ve read lately—mostly romance novels.”

“So, what are your reading goals for the year?” I asked, thinking I would have something to write in my resolutions journal if I came up with a goal for myself.

“Oh, I don’t set any reading goals,” the woman across from us added as she leaned a bit closer to the fire. “I just read for fun.”

“Me, too,” the woman in the lavender sweater added.

The group started laughing about some of the books they read and the trips they were on when they read them. They seemed at peace with the evening and with themselves, even though I could tell their lives were far from perfect.

“You haven’t said anything lately,” the woman on my bench said. “Are we keeping you from writing?” she asked as she pointed to my notebook.

I glanced at last year’s resolutions on top and realized I didn’t really want any of those goals to come true. I wasn’t looking for marriage or a perfect body size or a promotion at work. I wanted this—time around fires, books to read, and time to see the stars. No lists. No percentages to remind me I failed at some things. “Oh, no. I just brought this out to help you keep the fire going,” I said as I tossed it in the middle of the flames and leaned back and looked up at the stars and smiled for the first time in a long while.