I have never liked New Year’s resolutions.
I’ve tried. I’ve watched others swear by them. And still, something about them has never sat well with me.
January 1 has always felt less like a fresh start and more like a scoreboard being reset. As if the clock strikes midnight and suddenly there is an unspoken expectation to do better, be better, and try harder. As if who you were on December 31st is no longer quite enough.
What rises up in me is pressure first. Then anxiety. Because right behind the excitement of a “new year” comes the quiet fear of failure. The sense that if I do not change fast enough or visibly enough, I have somehow missed the point.
The part that troubles me most is not the desire to grow. Growth matters to me. What doesn’t sit right is the expectation that change should happen simply because a calendar tells us it’s time. There is rarely reflection in that moment. Little curiosity about who we are now. Almost no space to ask who we are becoming. And without that, the whole thing can feel less like intention and more like obligation.
Why resolutions so often fall apart
Most New Year’s resolutions fail for a simple reason. They are made without a reason.
We decide what we should do before we understand why we want to do it. We commit to habits, goals, or identities that sound good, look responsible, or seem expected, without checking whether they actually fit our life, our season, or our values.
It’s a bit like buying a beautiful planner in January. The pages are crisp. The intention is sincere. A few weeks in, the planner sits unused. Not because we are lazy or undisciplined, but because the structure was never designed around the life we are actually living.
When there is no clear why, motivation fades quickly. When we don’t understand what we are moving toward. Every setback feels personal. The failure isn’t the resolution itself. It’s that we skipped the part where we get to know ourselves first.
For me, that was the beginning of a different way of approaching change.
When I chose to do it differently
This shift didn’t come from a desire to be different or to reject tradition. It came from a season of deep change in my life.
After my divorce was finalized, and after my mom and a dear friend passed into glory, life felt quieter in a way that couldn’t be ignored. For many years before that, my focus had been on taking care of other people. I did what was needed. I did what was asked. I showed up. I kept going. There wasn’t much space left for asking what I wanted or who I was becoming.
When those chapters closed, I found myself with something I hadn’t had in a long time, time to think.
Not time to fix myself. Time to reflect.
I realized that I didn’t want to make changes because I was supposed to. I wanted to understand who I was now. The woman standing here was not the same woman who had lived through those earlier seasons. Any meaningful change had to begin with knowing her, not correcting her.
That’s when I stopped trying to start over. I began looking for a way to stay connected to myself as the year unfolded.
Choosing one word
Instead of making a list of resolutions, I began choosing one word to guide me through the year after I read a Facebook post.
I choose my one word carefully. Not quickly. I choose my word intentionally.
It usually comes after some quiet reflection, after I’ve had time to look at my life honestly and ask myself what I need more of, not what I should want, but what would actually support me.
Once I choose the word, I write it down and post it on the wall near my desk. That’s where I see it every day.
It’s not on my bathroom mirror. I don’t like clutter in the bathroom. I can tolerate clutter at my desk.
That word becomes a quiet companion. It stays front of mind simply because it’s there. I glance at it often, sometimes without even realizing I’m doing it. Does it guide every decision I make? No. I’m human. Life happens.
But it does remind me of what matters to me. It reminds me of what I set out to honor at the beginning of the year. And most importantly, it reminds me that I am important in my own life.
Last year’s word: Balance
Last year, the word I chose was balance.
I had been working a lot. More than I realized at first. Often at the expense of time with family and friends. Balance wasn’t about doing less; it was about paying attention. It asked me to notice where my energy was going and whether that matched what mattered most to me.
Balance asked me to say no to some things I used to attend simply because I felt I should. Events that didn’t truly interest me. Invitations that came from expectation rather than desire. I learned that I could say no, or suggest another day, without needing to justify myself.
It also gave me permission to say yes in new ways.
I realized how much I love learning. During the COVID years, that mostly happened at home.
Last year, balance invited me back out into the world. Public lectures. Book signings. Astronomy talks. Science events. Festivals I had never been to before. Big screen music events. I gave myself permission to indulge my curious, slightly nerdy side. Sometimes I went with friends. Sometimes I went by myself. Going by myself was an eye-opening experience.
What I learned is this, I didn’t achieve balance. I practiced returning to it.
Each choice became a small check-in. Not perfect. Not rigid. Just honest. And over time, that practice began to feel steadier.
Balance as an ongoing conversation
Balance didn’t end with one word on the wall. It became an ongoing conversation with me.
I subscribe to a number of newsletters that keep me informed about what’s happening in my region; public lectures, cultural events, author talks, and things that spark my curiosity. They don’t take long to read, but they offer a lot of choice.
As I look at an event, I pause and ask myself a few simple questions. Does this fit into my calendar? What’s happening in my life before and after it? Am I genuinely interested in this topic? Can I afford to go? Do I want to go alone or with a friend?
Then I get to decide.
Almost every time, my first thought is still, I’ll just stay home. Staying home is familiar. It’s easy. It doesn’t ask anything of me.
And then I remember why I chose balance in the first place. I remember that I wanted more connection, more learning, more life. I remind myself that possibility rarely knocks loudly.
Sometimes it whispers.
Showing up like this isn’t always pretty or polished. Sometimes, choosing possibility simply means being willing to be seen, awkward moments and all.
When possibility includes embarrassment
One evening, I decided to attend a movie screening hosted by the Perimeter Institute at a local theatre. It was one of those events I might have talked myself out of in the past, but balance nudged me to go.
The screening itself was wonderful. The discussion afterward, however, went on and on. I had planned to stop by my son’s home later that evening, and eventually I decided to leave before the event was officially over.
As I exited the auditorium, I missed the last step.
I fell flat on my face.
I wasn’t hurt, thankfully. Just completely embarrassed. There I was, making my quiet exit, and suddenly I was the moment everyone noticed.
Nice exit, Rose!
I share this not because it was graceful or inspiring, but because it was real. I still showed up. I still chose possibility. And even when it didn’t look the way I imagined, it counted.
Where I am now
Right now, I’m in the reflection phase of choosing my word for the coming year.
I give myself time to look back before I look ahead. I review my calendar, not to judge how productive I was, but to notice what filled my days and how those days felt. I also spend time with my joy moments journal, letting myself remember the small, ordinary things that brought light into my life.
I don’t rush this part. I don’t force a word to appear. I trust that it will come.
Reflection has become a way of honoring my life as it is, not just as I imagine it could be. It helps me recognize what supported me, what stretched me, and what I might want to carry forward.
When the word arrives, it won’t be because I chased it down. It will be because I was listening.
An invitation, if it fits
This way of approaching the year may not be for everyone. Some people thrive on lists and clear goals. But for those who feel weighed down by expectation or quietly resistant to doing what everyone else seems to be doing, there is another option.
Choosing one word is not about narrowing your life. It’s about creating a touchstone. Something you can return to when decisions feel noisy or when it’s easy to forget yourself in the middle of everything else.
And if choosing a word for a whole year feels like too much, it doesn’t have to be that big. A word for the next month. Or even the next week. A small window of time where attention replaces pressure.
What matters is not the word itself, but the relationship that slowly forms around it. A way of listening inward instead of reaching outward for direction.
A quieter way forward
There is something comforting about not having to reinvent yourself at the start of a new year. About recognizing that you don’t need a dramatic reset to grow, only a willingness to stay connected to yourself as life unfolds.
For me, choosing one word has become a way of walking alongside my own life rather than trying to outrun it.
It doesn’t demand perfection. It doesn’t erase who I’ve been. It simply offers a steady reminder of what I want to honor as I grow.
However this season finds you, it’s enough to begin where you are. With curiosity. With kindness. With a little openness to what might be possible.
