Most new year resolutions last as long as a wet day

Pat Kenny

Every January 1, we wake up, bleary-eyed and clutching cups of tea strong enough to stand a spoon in, convinced that this year will be different. This will be the year we quit the pints, join a gym, and finally write that bestseller. Spoiler alert: it won’t.

New year resolutions: promises made on Guinness and broken on Tayto. Sure, willpower doesn’t stand a chance against cheese and onion or salt and vinegar. It’s the same every year.

‘New year, new me’ quickly becomes ‘new year, same mess’.

It’s just the annual lie we tell ourselves before settling back in to the usual routine, which lasts right up until someone offers you a slice of leftover Christmas cake.

Think about it. January 1 is the worst day to start anything. We’re still stuffed with turkey, plum pudding, and enough Baileys to sink a battleship.

The house is littered with half-eaten tins of Roses and Quality Street, with that one lonely Milky Way bar nobody wants. And yet, we convince ourselves we’ll wake up and become feckin’ saints overnight. We won’t.

Take gyms, for example. Every January, they’re packed with people who couldn’t find the on button on a treadmill if their life depended on it. By February, it’s just a lad named Paddy and someone’s mam who took up yoga because it was on the parish notice board.

The gym loves your resolutions as it loves your unused direct debit.

And then, the diet resolutions. Having spent the last month eating like we’re storing up for an Irish winter in the 1800s, we’re now supposed to survive on lettuce and hope?

Madness! Sure, you might start with a salad, but you’ll end up adding so much dressing it’s basically dessert.

Money-saving resolutions don’t fare any better. ‘This year, I’ll budget,’ you say, before walking into Penneys and coming out with 47 candles, two jumpers, a frying pan, a glittery notebook you’ll never use, three scarves, and a pair of slippers you won’t need. January is broke enough without pretending you’re suddenly financially prudent.

The problem is we set ourselves up to fail. ‘I’ll run a marathon,’ says the one who gets winded walking to the chipper. We aim so high, we’re practically begging to fall flat on our faces.

And let’s be honest: we Irish love the drama of a good failure. Sure, what’s life without a story to tell down the pub? ‘Remember that time I decided to give up the drink for Dry January? Didn’t last past Nollaig na mBan.’

The thing about new year resolutions is that they’re built on the idea that a new calendar magically fixes old habits. But life doesn’t work like that. You don’t suddenly become a new person just because Patrick Kielty counted down to midnight.

Real change happens in small, unremarkable steps, the kind nobody posts about on Instagram or TikTok. Instead of swearing off biscuits forever, try having just one less Digestive with your tea. Instead of joining a gym, take a walk on the canal or the greenway. Progress is progress, even if it’s not trending online.

Resolutions be damned.

So this year, let’s skip the resolutions and embrace what we’re actually good at: telling stories, laughing at ourselves, and raising a glass. Here’s to another year of being gloriously human, with all the chaos and craic that comes with it.

Pat Kenny is a member of Inklings Writing Group, who meet on Tuesdays 11am, and, beginning on January 15, on Wednesdays at 7.30pm, both in the Annebrook House Hotel, Mullingar. Newcomers are welcome.