January is a Performance Review for Your Fantasy Self

By Tammy Pondsmith, Senior Correspondent, Article 107 News (Reporting on the facts before they happen)

It’s December 31st again: the night we gather around a glowing rectangle to watch a glowing ball descend, and we promise—out loud, in writing, sometimes in a Notes app titled “NEW ME!!!”—to stop being ourselves.

Here at Article 107 News, where we don’t just report facts, we pre-report them, I can confirm with smug certainty: at 12:00:06 a.m. on January 1st, millions will swear they’re “finally getting it together,” and by 12:11 they’ll be eating something directly out of a container while Googling “how long does motivation last.”

New Year’s resolutions are an annual attempt to negotiate with time. We treat the calendar like a moral reset button, as if the universe says, “You were messy, but fine—here’s a fresh spreadsheet and one free inspirational quote in cursive.”

Uncomfortable truth #1: most resolutions aren’t goals. They’re public relations. We don’t resolve because we love change; we resolve because we love the idea of being the kind of person who changes. It’s aspiration cosplay. You buy the planner, the water bottle, the matching leggings, and your reflection accepts an award for achievements still pending.

Uncomfortable truth #2: resolutions are often just shame with better branding.
If you say, “I hate how I feel,” people get worried.
If you say, “I’m doing Dry January,” people nod like you’ve joined a noble expedition.
Same pain. Cuter packaging.

Let’s review the annual hits—streaming now on every platform that profits from your insecurity:

“I’m going to lose weight.” Translation: “I’ve been informed my body is a public group project and I’m tired of getting notes.” The diet industry loves January the way sharks love a blood drive. They don’t sell health; they sell the brief sensation of being temporarily less disappointing.

“I’m going to be more productive.” Translation: “I’ve accepted that capitalism is my landlord and it wants my soul in one-bedroom terms.” You’ll download an app that tracks your app that tracks your other app. Then you’ll stare at it and do what humans do best: scroll until your thumbs qualify for a pension.

“I’m going to be happy.” Fantastic. At what time? Daily? With what dependencies? Because if you’ve tied happiness to “once I’m thinner, richer, calmer, hotter, and more organized,” I have breaking news from the future: you will achieve one thing and immediately move the goalpost like it’s your side hustle.

And sure, you’ll also resolve to save money, read more, and “stop doomscrolling”—which is adorable, like announcing you’re going to quit oxygen and gossip.

Here’s the part that really stings: a lot of resolutions aren’t self-improvement. They’re self-erasure. We don’t vow to become more ourselves; we vow to become less… inconvenient. Less hungry. Less loud. Less needy. Less human. The implied ideal adult is a silent, hydrated robot who does Pilates and never has an intrusive thought.

Now, the twist: there’s something genuinely good buried under the glitter and panic. The good part is that we keep trying. Even after we fail. Even after we “start Monday” so often Monday files a restraining order.

Humans are ridiculous, but we’re also stubbornly hopeful. That’s the tongue-in-cheek uplifting truth: you’re still here, still attempting growth, still dragging your tender little heart into the future like a carry-on bag with one busted wheel.

So if you want a resolution that won’t collapse under the weight of your actual life, make it a practice, not a verdict.

Try:
Notice patterns instead of declaring bans.
Move your body without turning it into penance.
Protect one hour a week that belongs to you, not an algorithm.
Practice honesty—with yourself—without using it as a weapon.

Because the calendar won’t tell you this: you don’t need a new year to start. You need a new pattern. And patterns don’t break from declarations; they break from tiny, boring, repeatable choices—made by the same flawed person you already are.

Resolve to stop treating January like an audition for worthiness. Your value is not a limited-time offer that expires at midnight. You are allowed to restart whenever you remember you’re a human being, not a project plan.

This is Tammy Pondsmith for Article 107 News, confidently reporting the facts before they happen: you will mess up your resolution, you will feel dramatic about it, and then—if you’re smart—you’ll try again with less self-hatred and more humor. That, ironically, is the most sustainable plan we’ve got.

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Tammy Pondsmith was raised by a rotating panel of malfunctioning self-help gurus inside a mall food court, where she learned that “manifesting” is just wishful thinking with better lighting.

As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.