New Year’s Resolutions: A Savage Journey to the Heart of Self-Delusion
by Don Hall
By now, we should know better. The concept of the New Year’s resolution is as American as apple pie and arterial blockages—a ritualistic spectacle of good intentions dressed up in cheap tinsel and wishful thinking. But we do it anyway. Every December 31st, a drunken herd of humanity staggers to the altar of self-improvement, vowing to finally become the polished, virtuous versions of themselves that only exist in Instagram posts and pharmaceutical advertisements.
It’s a strange and twisted tradition, equal parts masochism and optimism, the kind of thing that could only thrive in a culture obsessed with reinvention. We promise to quit smoking, lose weight, learn French, stop screaming at the neighbor’s dog, or finally finish that novel we’ve been pretending to write for a decade. The list is endless and absurd, a catalog of lofty ambitions and unspoken fears, scrawled in the margins of a society desperate to believe that change is always just around the corner.
But let’s be honest: Resolutions are a sucker’s game. By the time the hangover fades and the gym membership paperwork is signed, most of these grand declarations are already circling the drain. Statistically speaking, your odds of sticking to a New Year’s resolution are about as good as your chances of outrunning a bear after three margaritas.
The problem, of course, is that we’re lying to ourselves. We’re not actually interested in becoming better people; we just want the dopamine hit of imagining that we could be. The resolution isn’t the goal—it’s the fantasy of transformation, the comforting illusion that tomorrow will be different, even though we’re the same flawed, chaotic creatures we were yesterday.
THE MADNESS OF SELF-IMPROVEMENT
Self-improvement, as an industry, is a racket. The gurus and motivational speakers, the detox teas and online courses—it’s all part of a multi-billion-dollar machine designed to prey on your insecurities and sell you the myth of progress. They promise you clarity, discipline, and a six-pack in six weeks, but what they’re really selling is hope. And hope, my friend, is a dangerous drug.
This is not to say that personal growth is impossible. On the contrary, humans are remarkably adaptable creatures. But true change takes time, effort, and a willingness to confront the ugly truths about ourselves. Resolutions, by their very nature, are shortcuts. They’re quick fixes and grand gestures, not the slow, grinding work of real transformation.
Take the classic resolution to lose weight. Every January, millions of people flock to gyms and diet programs, convinced that this will be the year they finally shed those extra pounds. But by February, the treadmill gathers dust, and the kale rots in the fridge. Why? Because the resolution is a reaction to guilt, not a commitment to change. It’s an attempt to erase the sins of the holiday season, to atone for the orgy of cookies and cocktails that left us bloated and ashamed.
And then there’s the resolution to be more productive, a favorite among the overworked and the chronically online. We buy planners and download apps, convinced that the right system will finally unlock our potential. But the truth is, productivity is not a matter of tools; it’s a matter of priorities. If you’re spending three hours a day scrolling through TikTok, no amount of bullet journaling is going to save you.
SELF LOATHING IN JANUARY
The real tragedy of New Year’s resolutions is not that they fail, but that they distract us from the deeper questions we should be asking ourselves. Why do we feel the need to reinvent ourselves every year? What are we running from? And why do we keep falling for the same traps, year after year?
The answer, I suspect, lies in our collective fear of stagnation. We live in a culture that worships progress, that equates stillness with failure. To admit that we’re content with who we are is to admit that we’ve stopped growing, that we’ve reached the end of our potential. And so we invent resolutions, not because we want to change, but because we’re terrified of staying the same.
There’s also a certain masochistic pleasure in the act of resolution-making. It’s a form of self-flagellation, a way of punishing ourselves for our perceived inadequacies. We set ourselves up for failure because, deep down, we believe we deserve it. We wear our broken promises like badges of honor, proof that we tried, even if we never really wanted to succeed.
THE SAVAGE TRUTH
If there’s a lesson to be learned from this annual farce, it’s that resolutions are not the answer. The path to self-improvement is not a straight line, and it certainly doesn’t begin with a drunken vow at midnight. Real change is messy and unpredictable, a series of small, imperfect steps rather than a dramatic leap. As I say, you eat a 72 ounce steak one bite at a time.
So this year, I propose a different approach. Instead of resolutions, let’s embrace revolutions. Let’s tear down the absurd expectations we’ve built for ourselves and start fresh, not with grand promises, but with small, meaningful actions. Let’s ditch the illusion of perfection and focus on progress, however slow and unsteady it may be.
And above all, let’s be kind to ourselves. Life is hard enough without the added pressure of trying to become someone we’re not. If you want to make a change, do it because it brings you joy, not because you think it will make you more worthy or lovable.
THE ROAD AHEAD
In the end, the New Year’s resolution is just another piece of the human circus, a spectacle of hope and despair that plays out on a global stage. It’s a ritual we cling to, not because it works, but because it reminds us that we’re all in this together, stumbling through the chaos in search of something better.
So raise a glass to your failures, my friend, and toast to the madness of it all. Here’s to another year of chaos and contradictions, of false starts and unexpected victories. Here’s to the beautiful, messy business of being human. And if you do make a resolution, make it a good one: Resolve to live boldly, to laugh loudly, and to never, ever apologize for the person you are.
Because in the end, that’s the only resolution that really matters.
