A new year has arrived, and with it come familiar promises of fresh starts and new beginnings. It’s also a time when people start sharing their resolutions for the year ahead. January 1 makes sense as a marker – it’s neat, symbolic and easy to remember. However, lately, the occasion has started to annoy me a little bit. It used to be about welcoming in a new year, but it has become so commercialised that it’s starting to feel a bit too much.
How many times have we heard the phrase “new year, new me”? It’s somehow become the de facto motto when it comes to New Year’s. But I wonder why we have to act as though turning a calendar page means we must somehow turn into someone new? Why not "new year, old me"? What if we’re actually happy with who we are? That’s not to say self-improvement isn’t possible and, of course, no one is perfect, but do we really need to keep hunting for flaws to fix? At what point is simply being content enough?
Every January, gyms overflow as people resolve to lose weight or get in better shape. Social media becomes filled with content about declarations of goals and intentions. Challenges appear everywhere, promising better bodies, better habits, better selves. My inbox fills with discounted meal plans and wellness resets – all subtle reminders that I, apparently, am not good enough as I am.
And yes, I know I have things I could work on. I’d love to be more consistent with meal prepping, healthier eating or getting enough sleep. But I don’t think anyone needs a specific date to begin if they really want to change, and they certainly shouldn’t feel like they’ve failed if they haven’t “transformed” or reached their goals by the end of the year.
Part of my problem is that resolutions often come from a mindset of fault-finding rather than self-understanding. They frequently start with what needs correcting – weight, routine, productivity, discipline – rather than acknowledging the qualities and strengths already there. Instead of asking, “What do I value?” or “What am I already doing right and should continue?”, the question becomes “What do I need to fix?” – which is a draining way to approach things.
Resolutions also tend to be a bit rigid. There’s this unspoken rule that if you don’t stick to them all the way through, you’ve somehow failed. Of course, that isn’t true. Something that feels important in January might not matter much at all later in the year. Real change rarely happens in a straight line – sometimes it pauses, starts again or turns into something completely different.
Also, meaningful transformation doesn’t start just because of a date. It starts when something shifts inside us or when timing is more aligned. That could happen in March. Or October. Or quietly, without any announcement at all, and it is just as legitimate.
What gets lost in all of this is the idea that being okay as we are is enough. We don’t celebrate this version of ourselves nearly as much as we should. Simply getting through the year – especially in a world that constantly feels demanding – is already something. But resolutions don’t really leave room for that kind of acknowledgement.
A new year can still hold hope. It can carry possibilities. It can be a good time for reflection, if reflection is genuinely what you want. But it doesn’t need to demand reinvention. Sometimes a new year can simply be another chapter of the same life, as the same person, continuing to grow in quiet, natural ways – or simply continuing – and that should be celebrated, too.
