Every New Year’s Eve, like clockwork, we gather with friends, family, or simply our own thoughts, pen in hand and a blank sheet before us. This is it, we think, the magical moment to reinvent ourselves.
We write down our resolutions with grand intentions: “Exercise daily”. “Eat fewer crisps”. “Finally learn French (or was it Spanish last year?)”. It’s a ritual as ubiquitous as fireworks and questionable countdown playlists.
Yet, this year, I’ve decided to break the mould. I’m making no resolutions. None. Not a single one.
Before you gasp and clutch your 2025 planner, hear me out.
Resolutions are like a shiny new gym membership: fabulous in theory but often neglected by February. There’s an inherent pressure in resolving to be better, faster, thinner, kinder, more accomplished – and the looming shadow of potential failure.
How many of us have set lofty goals only to feel the weight of guilt when life happens and we inevitably fall short? If New Year’s is about celebration and renewal, why do we start it off by setting ourselves up to feel inadequate?
This year, I’m swapping self-criticism for self-compassion.
Instead of striving to be a version of myself that ticks more boxes, I’m choosing to embrace the me who already exists – flaws and all. The quirks that resolutions often aim to iron out are, in fact, the very essence of our character.
My tendency to hoard books I’ve yet to read? It’s less about procrastination and more about my belief in future me. The way I unapologetically eat biscuits in bed while watching reruns of my favourite shows? That’s comfort, not chaos.
Now, don’t mistake this for complacency. I’m not against self-improvement or growth; far from it. But I’ve realised that the best changes in my life haven’t come from ticking off a resolution list. They’ve happened organically, in the midst of ordinary days.
Like the time I took up morning walks, not because it was January but because I stumbled upon a sunrise so beautiful it demanded to be witnessed again. Or when I started cooking more at home, not because I resolved to save money but because a kitchen mishap turned into the most delightful concoction I’d ever tasted.
The trouble with resolutions is their rigidity. Life is unpredictable, messy, and gloriously unscheduled. By vowing to stick to specific goals, we risk missing the beauty of spontaneous moments and unplanned joys.
What if, instead of a list of resolutions, we started the year with a sense of curiosity? Imagine waking up in January and asking yourself, “What could bring me joy today?” rather than, “How can I be better?”
This year, I’m embracing the art of being. I’m giving myself permission to live without a grand agenda. I’ll explore passions that pique my interest, like attempting to – once again – grow a herb garden (though I suspect my outdoor cat minions will remain the serial plant killer they’ve always been).
I’ll make more time for friends, even if that just means sending a silly meme instead of waiting for the elusive ‘perfect’ time to meet. And yes, I’ll still eat biscuits in bed.
Letting go of resolutions also means letting go of the idea that our worth is tied to productivity. We live in a world that glorifies busyness, where rest feels like rebellion and hobbies are monetised into side hustles.
But what if we dared to exist just for the sake of it? To read a book with no intention of posting it on Instagram. To dance in the kitchen without counting it as cardio. To nap in the afternoon without guilt.
Of course, there’s an irony in writing about not having resolutions; it’s almost a resolution in itself. But the difference lies in intention. There’s no checkbox, no pressure, no timeline.
It’s simply a choice to honour the year ahead by giving it room to surprise me. It’s about trading expectations for wonder and goals for gratitude.
So, if you’re tired of the resolution rat race, I invite you to join me in this experiment. Let’s toast to 2025 with a mind-set of openness rather than obligation. Let’s celebrate the messy, delightful humans we already are, while leaving space for whatever magic life has in store.
And if, come February, you decide you do want to learn a new language after all, or maybe just switch to tea biscuits instead of chocolate ones, that’s perfectly fine too. Growth isn’t confined to the first of January. It’s a dance that happens year-round, often when we least expect it.
Happy New Year – resolution-free and wonderfully free indeed. – Izah Azahari
