“Good resolutions are simply checks that men draw on a bank where they have no account.” (Oscar Wilde)

As I ready myself for the new year and turn the page of my daily planner – the outmoded, non-digital, paper printed version I will never relinquish – I proudly enter 2026 resolution free.  New Year resolutions are a well-intentioned impulse, like an expensive face cream purchased in an upscale department store, fueled by the promise of dermatologic splendor provided you apply it diligently each night.  Visions of smoother skin entice until the yearning to freefall into bed becomes more ardent than the effort to erase crow’s feet. The opulent jar becomes relegated to a shelf in a cabinet, next to the other magical potions, as they collect dust and turn into very expensive porridge.   Such are overly ambitious resolutions.  

What’s braver is to fling oneself headfirst into January, with the promise only to be a better person, pay your bills on time, and try not to offend too many people as your amygdala continues to shrink alongside your prefrontal cortex, allowing loose lips to run wild with unadorned thoughts.  It’s one of the many perks of aging; you’re awarded an invisible badge permitting you to speak your mind more freely without the worry of consequence, as any future consequence becomes much less threatening.  

To start the year with a cheeky twist, create a list of old friends and former co-workers you haven’t spoken with in ages.  Decades even.  Then, stalk their social media pages as if you were Inspector Clouseau, being careful not to hit any reaction buttons or leave behind a digital fingerprint to announce you were there, and find if you can, a current telephone number or email.  Call or send a message as if you’ve never lost touch, with the improvised tone of “Hi, I was just thinking about you…”  At first you’ll be met with perplexed silence, but I would wager with your best listening-ears securely in place, and cleverness activated to ask the right questions, the minutes to follow will be filled with an accounting of their impending divorce, how the government screwed them through capital gains tax with the recent sale of their house, and that their nagging fear of death has been slightly alleviated with an upped dosage of Klonopin. 

Human beings are creatures of structure and conformity, which is why resolutions have always been popular.  They are like mental drill sergeants, designed to keep us on track as we strive to achieve the dream life attributed to those who are Instagram-worthy and photoshop-savvy. Yet resolutions rarely last long. Who wants a drill sergeant breathing down their neck when all you desire to do after a long day is to collapse on the couch and stream “Emily in Paris,” Season 5?

A better approach for the upcoming year is to fill it with a cup of hope and a saucer of reality, with the understanding that blessing and adversity may arrive in equal measure.  When hope remains in the forefront, it inspires to live as though you’re already the better version of yourself, the one who makes time to live in the present, to be kinder and less hurried, to give without giving away yourself, and to appreciate with each passing year the less significance of the material, and the knowing that the love you share is what will endure. 

Here’s to 2026.