Resolutions Are Bullies - JT's Tales from The Trail

I’ve always thought that fall would be a better time for a New Year to dawn — when the world is awash in optimistic color and young people are starting a brand-new school year.

Instead, January arrives after weeks of sugar and booze-soaked gluttony, hyper-social angsty busyness, and general end-of-year chaos. Nonetheless, I’ve always been a dedicated resolution maker. I’ve diligently written down New Year’s resolutions every year since I learned to read and write.

Typically, my resolutions haven’t been especially thoughtful or creative. For years, quitting smoking was at the top of my list — which I finally did sometime in my forties — but a New Year’s resolution didn’t have much to do with it. And as long as I can remember, getting thinner has also been on that list. The first time I wrote lose weight on my resolution list, I was ten.

Honestly, setting resolutions has most often felt like an annual exercise in self-flagellation — an admonishment for all the ways I believe I’ve failed, or all the ways I fear I’m inadequate compared to others. I don’t think I’ve been fully aware of this until recently, but most of the resolutions I’ve made haven’t been based on what I truly wanted. They were driven by what I thought I should want or who I should be.

In short, my resolutions were more based on expectations I had absorbed from others and the culture I lived in, rather than what I genuinely wanted for myself. I never really even stopped to think about what would genuinely make me happier.

So I’ve come to believe that making resolutions isn’t an empowering exercise. Even the word resolution sounds like a contract written by a bully. It implies discipline, deprivation, and the looming threat of failure.

So a couple of years ago, I stopped making resolutions and started setting intentions for my life instead. An intention feels different than a resolution. It feels more attuned to what I truly want, and it holds a lot more compassion as I work to get there. Setting an intention is less about demanding immediate change, and more about choosing a direction — then slowly, steadily moving towards it.

All of us have an inner compass, and if we make space to listen, it will intuitively point us toward the actions that are right for us — not for society, not for Instagram, but for our actual lives. I believe that if we want to improve our lives, we have to pay attention to what we’re aiming at. That’s why our intentions matter — not just because they shape what we do, but because they shape how we move through the world, and ultimately how happy we are while we’re here.

I’ve written my intentions down on a notepad on my computer, and I try to read them whenever I start to feel a little unmoored — which is almost daily. I also edit them whenever inspiration hits or new learning happens, rather than only revisiting them on one particular day of the year.

At the top of my intention list is learning how to feel less anxious. I’ve always struggled with anxiety, but it has intensified noticeably in recent years. I’ve talked about this with many other women my age, and have learned that a lot of us are getting more anxious as we grow older.

Part of it, I suspect, is hormonal. Menopause can turn our nervous systems into jumpy little smoke alarms, suddenly reacting to things that used to feel manageable. It can disrupt sleep, lower our tolerance for stress, and make our emotions feel sharper and faster. And when you add in the mental load many of us carry in midlife and beyond — aging parents, losing loved ones, worrying about adult kids, and our own health issues — it’s no wonder anxiety starts to feel louder in this season of our lives.

On top of that, it also feels like the universe is delivering an overabundance of things to feel anxious about right now. I’m reaching advanced middle age at a time when the world seems to be spinning faster — throwing war, political chaos, climate change, and an endless stream of social issues at us, all of it heavy, urgent, and impossible to fully metabolize. I’m finding it tricky to navigate, and don't know how to engage in a way that’s actually helpful.

I also feel a tiny bit vanquished by the pace of turbulent change. I don’t think we’ve experienced this volume of social change in such a compressed period since World War II. The shifts sparked by the digital age — and now AI — feel monumental.

And on top of all this, the norms and behaviors that shaped the world I grew up in are shifting faster than I can keep up with. Sometimes it feels like I’m trying to learn a new language with a brain that would prefer a nap. Is anyone else exhausted by younger folks rolling their eyes when you get tongue-tied over pronouns?

And my anxiety isn’t always rational either — my life is good. I have many great friends, a loving partner, economic security, and the education and skills to live with purpose.

Nonetheless, I often feel quite overwhelmed by it all. However, simply reading the intentions I’ve set on my computer notepad is surprisingly calming. It reminds my nervous system that I’m not flailing — I’m choosing to live a life aligned with who I am and who I want to be. Even when the world feels chaotic, I can still decide what kind of person I want to be inside it.

So here they are — my intentions. They are not grand declarations, nor a ten-step program for self-improvement. They are simply a few practical guardrails to help me build the kind of life I actually want to live.

First, I want to do what I want, when I want, every single day. I want my days to feel like they belong to me alone - like summer vacation when I was a kid. Less obligation, I think, is one of the beautiful benefits of growing older. This means changing how I work, and resisting the frantic, itchy kind of productivity that leaves me cranky and resentful.

Another intention is to spend more time doing the things I actually like doing — and that make me feel good. For me, that’s writing, reading, and long walks.

And then there are the small, manageable things I can do to help myself feel good inside my body and age well — the unglamorous little habits that quietly add up. On my list are daily forward bends, park bench push-ups, taking the stairs instead of the elevator, standing on one foot whenever I find myself waiting in line, and eating more fruits and vegetables.

I also want to feel grounded and calm, and live a simpler, more peaceful life. Not a perfect life. Not a life where I finally figure everything out. Just one where my nervous system isn’t constantly braced for impact.

To get there, I’m working on my inner world by journaling and listening to podcasts that make me feel steadier and more capable, and that help me understand my own emotional landscape and support my well-being. Whenever I don’t feel calm in any part of my life, I ask myself: How can I make this easier? I don’t want more complexity or friction — I want fewer moving parts and more calm.

I’ve also set an intention to only pursue relationships — and spend time with people — who I genuinely feel happy to be around. I only want to be with people who make me feel content, loved, and safe, where the good energy flows both ways, and I don’t feel like I have to perform or prove anything.

I’m also working on checking my comparisons to other people, and caring less about what they think of me or whether they like me. I remind myself daily that I have no control over what people think or do, so there’s no point in dwelling on it. I’m trying to pinch the coveting, stop the scrolling, and resist that reflexive impulse to measure my life against someone else’s success or opinions. 

I’ve also set an intention to be mindful about how I spend money. I remind myself constantly that money isn’t for impressing people or proving I’m successful. It’s for waking up and doing what I want to do every day — and for maintaining enough of a nest egg to feel safe.

I also have a few small, domestic intentions. Like checking around me before I leave a room so I don’t lose my belongings. And being mindful when I eat so I don’t get food on my shirt. Gawd, I am just the worst for that.

I’ve also set an intention to learn to like playing backgammon with my husband, because he loves it, and it’s good for our relationship to spend time together that way.

And I also know I’m going to falter. Constantly. So I’ve started tracking a couple of things on my notepad — not in an obsessive way, but as a gentle way to notice what’s working.

For instance, I track how many days in a row I feel calm and peaceful, without irritation or anger flaring up inside my brain. My record so far is two. I also track how many days in a row I walk more than 10,000 steps. My record is seven, but overall, I’m walking way more than I ever have before.

This feels like a good starting point. Don’t get me wrong — I still hope that some miracle happens and I emerge from this exercise a few sizes smaller. A woman can always dream.

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