Resolutions for the silly and the goofy

keep your self-betterment away from me

I’m tired, you’re probably tired, so welcome to whatever this is!

Like most people, I never stick to a new year’s resolution. Mostly becuase I forget about them by day three, mostly becuase I can be lazy about things, mostly because I seek a soft life. Anyway, I have long been suspicious about things like resolutions, which are almost always lists of self-betterments tasks that are all about painstaking ways to correct perceived flaws. There’s usually an overlap with diet culture and exercise and a hangover from the indulgence of the festive season. January is the time for austere self-discipline. Of denying yourself the messy pleasures of being a human. I’m talking about the deliciousness of getting home and immediately undoing the top button of your jeans, loudly slurping down a bowl of instant ramen and letting the hot broth fleck onto your jumper, the absolute joy of biting into that piece of cake in the fridge you’ve been thinking about all day. These are small pleasures, good pleasures, that we often pathologise into ‘bad’ behaviours that are supposed to reveal things about ourselves which need fixing.

And sure, self-betterment can be a worthy goal, if it’s rooted in honesty and kindness. Everything in moderation, joy cannot be used as tool to distract from the world’s problems, caveat, caveat, caveat. For me, setting habits that are rooted in perfection or chores, like ‘exercise weekly’ often spiral into ‘exercise five times a week’ and then ‘exercise every day’, and then, inevitably, the pressure paralyses me and I don’t do any of it. Because I have ~anxiety~. (Don’t we all?)

The point is that goals rooted in joy or fun probably have a better chance of succeeding. And I do think most people spend all year trying to be the version of themselves they find most appealing anyway, because most of us want to be valued and seen and liked. All of us want to be loved. And in the selflove/buy more shit/fifty step skincare/arm-fat buster workout/pilates core/cool girl aesthetic/five to nine before the nine to five (respectfully, get fucked) era, where every facet of online life is about selling us fake self-actualisation, the puritanism of the new year resolution bullshit feels more useless than ever before. That was a very long sentence, and I’m only 80% sure I’ve used ‘self-actualisation’ correctly, so let us move onto the fun shit.

This is Polo, the family dog, who has never known the tyranny of self-improvement, and who sleeps 19 hours a day. Polo is blissed out most of the time and doesn’t have shit to say to anyone.

So the other morning when I was doing my very healthy doomscrolling, I saw something about new year’s resolutions that are rooted in low-stakes fun. I scrolled before I could fully take it in, but the idea stuck. I love the thought of embarking on a completely pointless goal with no self-betterment in mind, only fun. Only the small, messy pleasures of being human.

And with that in mind, here are some silly-goofy goals you (we?) might want to try. A lot of these are food based.

• Tying more jam flavours. I was thinking recently about how limited my jam choices have been in life. Strawberry, the classic, sure. Raspberry smeared on a dry croissant at a hotel continental breakfast. Apricot from when I was a kid and we’d run out of the strawberry. Guava (slight outlier, it’s true, but that’s because it’s a common one in Brazil). I can’t see how more fun and whimsical jams could be a bad thing. This also works for crisp flavours.

• Find a new fizzy drink. I am trying to stick to the BDS list and only recently clocked that Coke was on there. How I missed this is beyond me - but anyway, I want to wean off the coke zeros and get hooked on something else that is surgery and unhealthy. San Pellegrino? Something lychee-based? The world is truly my oyster.

• Taking more naps. I fucking LOVE a nap - that 3 p.m slump is too tedious and too boring to deal with. Get cozy. Crawl under the blanket. Fall asleep during the film. Nod off in the car (passenger’s seat only!) Just get more sleep. You probably need it.

• Perfect the hash brown. I would like to eat more hash browns this year and I’m thinking that a) learning how to make the BEST one and b) incorporating it into all mealtimes might be a the way to go.

• Giving more compliments. This one will need to be done with thoughtfulness and sincerity, or you shouldn’t do it at all. But doesn’t it feel great to get a compliment on something slightly random, like your belt, or the frame of your glasses? It’s quite pleasant to spot things you like and letting other people know.

• Find the green. It doesn’t have to be green, that’s just my favourite colour. It should be your favourite colour. Go a little out of your way to seek it - sit in the green chair, take the green mug from the cupboard, notice the green buildings. Collect them up in your head like little tokens. I’m aware we’re veering dangerously whimsical at the moment, with the compliments and the colours - but it’s only bad if it’s performative or hard work. Just nurture that little manic pixie dream girl in you.

• Eating more olives. I think perhaps we need more olives in society, and it’s not because of the olive-girl fad of yore, it’s because they’re delicious. In fact, this could be extended to pickles. Pickles, gherkins, cornichons, they’re as important as the briny, oily olive.

• Asking librarians and booksellers for their book recommendations more. I think they probably love being asked this (big assumption, big assumption) and probably will have so many that at least two will intrigue you. They are around books all day, surely they are the quiet experts that deserve to be heard.

• More people-watching. Lydia Davis insists the key to good writing is curiosity about the world and its processes. I think we could all start watching the small, intricate things. The way someone sips their coffee. The different seating positions. The path of the fly. Just don’t be creepy about it.

• Interact with more cats. At the risk of exposing what kind of child I was, when I was like, seven, I used to think cats were witches in disguise so I would always say a very polite hello to them when I saw them in the street, in case they cursed me.

• Hold hands more. Perhaps a marmite one but I love holding hands and I will do it with any loved one who lets me. Give me your hand, goddammit.

Remember the point of these are for pleasure. Just pleasure. No pressure, no stress. If these fill you with dread and disgust, that’s fine! We cannot always be for everyone.

My silly-goofy goals this year:

• I WILL be trying more pasta shapes in 2025. This feels like something we should all be doing, because there is no way this can fail to generate delight and wonder.

• The jam thing because that seems about right.

Also on the list, on a note of sincerity:

• Buy less shit (self-explanatory).

• Be less afraid. This year I’m doing something I’ve never done before. Something big, that might go wrong. I am a bit sick of always being afraid of the worst of it all, so I’m going to work on being braver.

Unbutton the jeans, slurp the noodles, eat the cake. Be curious about things. Take care of yourself, of your community, of your world, but live for the imperfect, messy joys too. Otherwise, fuck me, 2025 is going to be harder than we know.

A quick favour. I love writing these posts, and I intend to do them for free for as long as I can. If you enjoyed reading this, forward it to a friend (or three) who you think might like it too. It helps massively, because validation from strangers is truly the only thing that makes the horrors bearable for me.

PS: If you spotted a typo, no you didn’t.