I’ve always been a New Year’s girl rather than a Christmas one. Of course, Christmas has its merits (spending time with family, Baileys at 11am, dragging a perfectly crispy roast potato through gravy, etc). But there’s a sense of promise to the New Year that has always appealed to me. I love hitting reset. If it wasn’t completely weird and unsustainable, I would throw away everything I own at the stroke of midnight, and emerge as an entirely new version of myself. Everything that happened before, scrubbed clean.
For that reason, I was always really into New Year’s resolutions, too. I liked the ceremony of them. The way they were a tangible way to take stock. I’ve thrown New Year’s resolutions into the sea, and burnt them beneath the full moon. I’ve written long, colour-coded lists and I even, during one unhinged year, wrote them on a piece of paper which I then ripped up and scattered around the city (I think that was after a break-up). But a few years back, I sort of gave up. Not because I couldn’t be bothered, or because I hadn’t read Atomic Habits by James Clear. I just came up with something that worked better for me. Something I still do to this day.
Each New Year’s Eve, I like to give the year ahead a particular theme. Last year, the theme was ‘travel’—and it worked. I was freelancing at the time and I must have gone to a different country every month or so. Whenever someone said something like, “You’ve been all over the place,” I’d reply that yes, I had, because travel was my theme. This year, I switched the theme up entirely and decided it was time for ‘work’. While that might sound less fun, it actually felt good to commit to a singular focus. If I ever felt guilty for maybe not going out as much as I thought I should, I reminded myself that that just wasn’t this year’s theme. There’d be plenty of time for that during my ‘party’ year—which I’ve probably already had (I’m looking at you, 2017).
In 2007, the psychology professor Richard Wiseman tracked around 3,000 people who’d committed to a variety of resolutions, from going to the gym to drinking less. At the end of the year, a whopping 88 per cent of the group had failed to stick to their goals. A similar study from the University of Scranton saw slightly better numbers, with 77 per cent maintaining their resolutions for a week, but only 19 per cent for two years after that. It’s not that I think any of this matters, per se—I mean, who cares if you don’t go to the gym? It’s more that I personally don’t want resolutions to be a futile exercise, though it seems that statistically they often are. Again, this isn’t a moral failing, but it is a pointless one.
