Well, The year is coming to a close, and as the end draws near, conversations about New Year’s resolutions are in circulation. People may talk about hitting the gym, losing weight, getting their paper up, learning a new skill, or picking up a hobby—ultimately pursuing some form of self-improvement. I’ll admit, this idea has interested me enough over the years that I’ve experimented with setting New Year’s resolutions or yearly goals for myself. Some years came with wins, others with losses. Sometimes I set a fitness goal, only to get so derailed by life that when I eventually stepped on the scale and saw the weight gain, I felt shame and depression instead of motivation.
One year, I vowed to be more confident in myself and to build better social skills. That one turned out pretty well. I worked on improving small talk, asking more personal questions, and exploring my interests so I could become a more well-rounded person. I went from crippling anxiety—finding it hard to talk to people at all—to managing that anxiety well enough to strike up a conversation.
overall I'd have to say, that the practice of establishing New Year’s resolutions and pursuing goals in general has to be one of the most self-defeating concept that I have ever engaged with.
Merriam-Webster defines a goal as:
"the end toward which effort is directed"
Simple enough, right?. But I’ve found that having a goal implies more than intention—it requires a plan to actualize that end. A way to convert something conceptual into reality. Somewhere along the line, though, goals stopped being personal tools and started becoming social measurements of self-worth. Especially if those goals are shared with others.
Questions like “I thought you were pursuing culinary—now you’re pursuing tech?” or “What happened to that promotion?” no matter the intentions or delivery, they always felt like quiet evaluations.
If I can’t clearly define my path and destination—well enough to convince not only myself but also others—then what am I doing with my life? What value do I bring? And if I fail to achieve those goals, suddenly I’m “all talk,” not serious, not disciplined, not worthy.
That pressure felt especially heavy when I was young and still learning the world, still processing trauma, and coming from a background where life doesn’t revolve around intrinsic milestones. In those cases, goals don’t inspire—they burden. They become a way to prove my worth, to meet someone else’s standards, rather than a way to explore who I am.
Goals also feel finite. They don’t reflect the reality of growth or the nature of a journey. There is no straight path. There is no universal right or wrong. There are only things we’re interested in pursuing—and in that pursuit, the scope can change. Discovery leads in unexpected directions.
So, for shits and giggles, I’m trying something different.
Instead of pursing goals, I'll engage in projects for the new year.
Projects feel lighter. They’re things I can look forward to. Things I can pick up, redefine, pause, or even drop entirely. I can come back to them days, months, or years later. And if I finish one? Damn—it’s done. No guilt, no failure narrative attached.
So for this year, I’m keeping things intentionally ambiguous. You can follow the projects I’m carrying into the coming year.
This approach gives me permission to exist without constantly justifying my trajectory. As a form of introspection, not to measure success or failure, I’ll try to write a blog post updating the status of each of these projects along the way.
No deadlines. No pressure. Just movement.