Frankly… New Year’s resolutions are nonsense (unless you’re Peita)

By Bel – inconsistent achiever, part-time optimist, full-time realist

New Year’s resolutions are, frankly, nonsense.

There. I said it.

Every December, like clockwork, we collectively lose our minds. We decide that on January 1, we will become Better People™. More disciplined, more organised, less chaotic, more hydrated, less reliant on carbohydrates and hope. We buy planners with tabs. We buy activewear with intent. We promise things to ourselves that we would never promise under the influence of rational thought.

It’s delulu season, and frankly? I love the enthusiasm. I do. But let’s be honest: most New Year’s resolutions have the lifespan of a houseplant bought in good faith.

This is my year.
I’m turning things around.
I’m doing Dry January.
Sure you are, sweetie.

Meanwhile, the gym is full for 11 days, 12 max. By mid-January, the only people still attending are the regulars and one very sweaty overachiever who just realised annual memberships don’t refund themselves.

And yet… every year, I fall for it. I get swept up. I make a list. I colour-code it. I commit to a version of myself that does not exist and, frankly, has never existed. The vision is gorgeous. The reality is: I’m tired, I like snacks, and my tendency to procrastinate is not seasonal, it’s a personality trait.

But here’s the kicker.
There is one person I know who ruins this entire argument.
One person who treats resolutions not as aspirations but as contractual obligations with her future self.

Peita.

Peita, who has the consistency of a metronome.
Peita, who once decided to “learn a bit of Spanish” and clocked up a four-year Duolingo streak – hola, accountability!
Peita, who says things like “I’m going to write a haiku a day for a year,” and then actually does.
Peita, who makes a resolution and then sticks to it like it’s legally binding.

If I say “I’m going to journal daily,” I do it twice and then journal about how guilty I feel several months later.
If Peita says she’ll journal daily, she emerges three weeks later with an indexed system and insights that could power a TED Talk.

It’s honestly rude and a little unnatural,

Peita is living proof that New Year’s resolutions can work – if you have discipline, conviction, and a temperament that suggests you could have been an elite athlete in a past life.

For the rest of us?
Resolutions are suggestions. Aspirations. Vibes, really.

So this year, I’m not making any resolutions. I’m making intentions. Soft goals. Gentle nudges. Things I’d like to do, not things I’ll punish myself for failing at.

Because growth doesn’t need a date. Improvement doesn’t need fireworks.
And change, if it’s real, doesn’t hinge on a calendar rollover.

Unless you’re Peita.
In which case… ignore all of this.
Write your list. Laminate it. Achieve every item.
The rest of us will clap from the couch.