The Tyranny of the New Year's Resolution

January 2, 2026

Like many people, I have a love/hate relationship with New Year’s Resolutions. I love the idea of a blank page, a fresh slate, and the promises they hold. Simultaneously, I hate the sense of failure that making the same resolution year-after-year rubs in my face. That crushing sense of defeat is enough to make me feel like a total failure, and therefore, causes me to, 1. Make the same resolution for yet another year, while subconsciously certain that I will (yet again) fail. That underlying belief causes me to 2. Throw up my hands in defeat by January 4. And so the completely unproductive resolution cycle continues.

As I began to think about the new year once again, I read some thoughtful reflections on the subject. At their best, resolutions are intensely hopeful—a wise recognition of our human imperfections and a reflection of our deep desire to be better versions of ourselves. At their worst, though, resolutions are a damnation of the person we actually are.

No wonder we throw up our hands a few days in—if we are indeed damned, then there’s no way out, so why expend the effort to try the impossible?

What caught my attention in all of these essays, though, is how crucial the idea of reflection is to productive resolutions, or really, to any kind of productive goals. Looking back allows me to honestly acknowledge the person I actually am. Intimately knowing that person gives me the resources to make resolutions that might actually stick. It’s not an admission of failure; it’s being realistic—and, deep down, it’s actually wanting to succeed.

Reflection is the key. So is honesty. I am just not going to be a completely different person on December 31, 2026. There’s no way. Accepting that truth allows me to make productive changes.

Writing my story has been an important piece of reflection for me. It’s allowed, no, almost forced me to go more slowly. I can’t do it all. I can’t read every book, do every project, adopt every exercise. Basically, I’ve realized when I say yes to something, that yes is an automatic no to a thousand other things. No human can do it all—despite what social media and the press make it look like. However, it’s really painful to realize that.

But, as Kate Bowler says, “Once the illusion [that we can do it all] breaks, we can stop trying to become limitless and start practicing a life that’s actually livable.” She goes on to add, “Limited agency is the humility to admit, I don’t get to steer the whole story, pared with the courage to say, but I can still choose something.”

I’ve been struggling for several years to get a structure for my morning reflection time that doesn’t veer off into reading social media or blogs that, while not inherently bad, don’t move my day forward in the way I’d like. This year, I really thought about what changes I would actually make and what I actually want to get out of my reflection time. For the first time in a while, I feel hopeful about the changes I’ve decided to make. I won’t be a completely different person a year from now, even if I’m successful, but I don’t want to be. I just want to be a little bit better, and I do think that small shift is within my control.