A New Year's Ritual

I gave up on New Year’s resolutions a long time ago, if only because I didn’t need to add anything more to my to-do list—and I also felt like admonishing myself to “eat healthier,” or “work out more,” or “drink less” didn’t work. Invariably, I failed almost immediately, which isn’t a great way to start anything. (After all, what does “eat healthier” even mean?”)

There are two points to make. One, I’ve found that whenever I’ve successfully instituted any positive change in my life it’s because I’ve made it concrete and trackable, i.e., “Take one long walk a weekend.” And two, we’ve misunderstood the intent of “making resolutions”—specifically because “making” and “resolutions” are incompatible.

I recorded a solo podcast episode about this (“The Real Meaning of Resolutions”)—sorry for the retread for those who have listened—but the etymology of resolution is resolvere (Latin): loosen, release. Yep, that’s right. Instead of battening down the hatches to hit harder at our goals, we’re supposed to use the New Year as an opportunity to let it go.

When I was younger, my mind was not only a steel trap, but it was more like a filing cabinet, packed with every bit of salacious gossip—I knew who had been wronged (and who had done the wronging), who had been cheated on (and who had cheated), who had messed up (and how, and why), and so on and so forth. These days, I can barely remember my children’s full names, much less who did what back in January—and I very much like it this way. I’m either incapable of retaining this type of information, or I refuse to—either way, it’s fine with me.

To that end, for the past four winter solstices, I’ve emptied the filing cabinet even more. I write down what needs to be released—all my grievances and disappointments from the past year—and then I burn it. Try it: It feels amazing, like sending old tax returns through a paper shredder. When that’s all finished, I write down what I hope for in the coming year—what I’d love to create wholesale, where I’m hoping for additional momentum, and what I want to cultivate more of in my days. If there are burdens I’m hoping to put down, I ask for support and relief in doing so. There’s no right or wrong way to do this, but sometimes the promise of setting paper on fire is enough inspiration to really let it go. (I don’t burn my year to come, only the year that’s in the rear view mirror.)