It’s January 2, which means we’ve officially reached that magical time of year when half the population is still insisting they’re “starting strong,” and the other half is quietly shoving their abandoned resolutions into the same drawer where expired coupons and unmatched socks go to die.
Guess which category I’m in.
Every year I make the same mistake: I step into January like a delusional Victorian child dreaming about a better life, convinced that this will be the year I transform myself through sheer force of will. New year, new me. New habits. New discipline. New level of emotional maturity. I’m basically a self-help book with legs.
And then January 2 hits.
Let’s review how my resolutions are going so far:
Resolution #1: Drink more water.
Great idea in theory, until I realized that “drinking more water” means actually remembering to drink it. I filled a beautiful new water bottle yesterday. It is currently full. Completely untouched. Sitting on the counter like a $38 piece of performance art titled “Hydration Is a Lie.”
Resolution #2: Eat better.
I started strong by eating a piece of fruit. It was dried fruit. From the remains of a charcuterie board. But still. Fruit.
Resolution #3: Be more patient.
I was patient for an entire nine minutes until someone asked me where the milk was, which—shockingly—was in the refrigerator, exactly where it always is, exactly where it will always be, until the end of time. My spiritual growth journey continues.
Resolution #4: Declutter the house.
Technically I am decluttering. I moved three holiday items from one counter to a different counter. That’s called “visual flow,” thank you very much.
Resolution #5: Spend less time on my phone.
I absolutely crushed this one. I set a limit on my screen time. And then I immediately ignored it because I am not going to let an app boss me around in my own house.
The truth is, New Year’s resolutions are basically adult Santa letters. Full of hopes. Full of dreams. Full of promises we absolutely cannot keep.
I’m not saying we shouldn’t try—I’m just saying maybe we could all calm down with the pressure to reinvent ourselves overnight when most of us are still pulling tinsel out of the carpet.
If you’re already off the rails two days into the year, congratulations. You’re a normal human adult doing your best in a world where half the population apparently wakes up at 4 a.m. to drink lemon water and journal, and the rest of us are reheating coffee for the third time and hoping the day goes easy on us.
Here’s my official stance for 2026:
If the resolution wasn’t working for you anyway—ditch it. Today. Right now. Release it into the universe like a little dove of freedom.
You can always “start fresh” on March 4. Or June 12. Or the second Tuesday in September. Time is fake. Calendars are suggestions. Self-improvement is not a group project.
So cheers to another year of us trying, failing, laughing about it, and then trying again in whatever chaotic, half-hearted, deeply human way we do best.
Happy January 2. The real new year starts tomorrow.