I didn't break a single resolution in 2014--not one. It's a great feeling, basking in my success, lauding it over the people who crumpled just a few days into the New Year.

With clarity, I can remember the feeling of failure, the self-loathing I experienced in the past. Some of those resolutions cost me big bucks. I can't even remember how many expensive gym memberships I bought, but I'd need both hands to count and a calculator to add up the cost. I paid the money--why didn't I lose weight? Oh, that's right; a member has to use the equipment, actually show up.

I do recall actually walking into some of those sweat shops, the communal showers where I couldn't help but look--even if they were women--they were naked, for God's sake.

The year I decided to join the temperance movement and give up alcohol was a big one on my agenda. I took umbrage at my acquaintances pointing at my empty wine bottles. "It's not the same," I protested.

My filthy smoking habit? Well, I accept that I'm a social leper, but I never made smoking a resolution. At any rate, I pay big sin taxes and I console myself with the truth--I'm filling government coffers. Setting a date for smoking cessation is a great idea, but combining a resolution like that with a night of booze--well that just won't cut it.

In 1842 or was it 1999--never mind, the year, decade or century are not pivotal to the story--I swore I would use language effectively, and stop the profanity that spilled from my lips. Knowing that incentive and consequences are strong motivational tools, I made my swear jar visible and promised dutifully to put in the required toll should I err.

My self-control was admirable. I impressed myself. That resolution got flushed in the third week of January. Someone rear-ended my car making an illegal lane change--if there is such a thing in Toronto. I muttered obscenities under my breath as we exchanged insurance information. Not two hours later, a huge order, still sitting on the loading dock was cancelled. I was a mite more verbal over that one. By the time I got home, I was a f***ing wreck, and it didn't help that my teenage son wanted money and car keys as I walked through the door. I threw twenty dollars into the swear jar and let it rip.

After a lifetime of resolutions and the subsequent failures that did nothing for my self-esteem, I decided that I was an imperfect human being. There was no reason to remind myself of that sad fact.

Like most people, I take pleasure in my accomplishments. To boast that I survived 2014 without breaking resolutions is a humbling moment. But then again, last year I made not a single resolution. I'm feeling very smug about my success.