Not that I want you to think that I'm against the practice; I'm not. I don't sneer at those who make such lists, or think any less of them (unless their lists include items such as "Must cut back on puppy-kicking and science-bashing" or, more likely, "Must find more puppies to kick and science to bash"; it all depends on one's definition of "self-improvement").
Anyway, the things that I want to do, I'm going to do, which also goes for the things that I don't really have a choice about. So that leaves the relatively minor things, such as to finish painting the miniatures that have been sitting on my desk for the past year, and actually getting around to playing a couple of computer games that I've had for a while, and want to play, but need to create joystick mappings for. But those two things tend to be at odds with each other, even though my desk and my computer are only a few feet apart. That might be ironic, but I'm not certain.
But something like "Live as hedonistically as possible" would certainly not be on my list. It's just not something that I would do. In fact, I'd be likely to cast a suspicious glance at anyone listing that. I mean, you just can't be sure about the sort of people who use the word "hedonistic" with such familiarity, much less someone who would seek to take such an idea unto themselves. They're suspicious, they are, and just as likely as not to have criminal tendencies. Not that I'm accusing anyone; no, nothing of the sort. I'm just saying.
Now, does this disdain for hedonistic pursuits and a haughty objection to what are, basically, frivolous commitments make me stuffy and boring? No, they do not. They're merely symptoms of such, you see. After all, I'm a near-30, suburb-dwelling new father. And that's only the tip of the proverbial iceberg: I long for power tools which I have no use for; I drive a car that I really like but which can certainly be called anonymous, conformist, and sedate; I really should get out there and mow the lawn; And I keep meaning to get out the ladder and take a look at the gutters, just to be sure they aren't filling up. Add to that the fact that, as I write this, it's 11:23pm on December 31st, and you should have a pretty clear picture.
So what do I want from my life for the next year? Well, a new job would be nice, and I'm working on that. But I'm certainly not planning on making a career move into lion taming. No, I'm a Senior Technical Writer, and while it's not Certified Public Accountant or Accounts Receivable Supervisor, it's not a daring, devil-may-care sort of profession. Achilles made his choice, I made mine, and I have to say that it's probably for the best that Achilles didn't go into tech writing; after all, "Achilles' Heel" is much more poetic than "Achilles' Carpal Tunnel Syndrome."