RESOLVED-- Be More Open

 

Terry here, with our question for the week: Do you take stock of your life only at the beginning of the year, or do you do it periodically throughout the year? Are resolutions part of that process? 

 NOTE: Please read carefully. At the end, I have a question for you. 

What is it about January that makes us suddenly reflective? The flip of a calendar page, a brand-new planner, twelve empty months stretching ahead like untouched snow — and there we are, taking stock of our lives as if we’ve scheduled an annual performance review with ourselves. 

Do you do that? Conduct a formal audit of your own existence once a year? 

I used to. It felt responsible. January 1 — or maybe January 2, once the football games and black-eyed peas were out of the way — I’d sit down with a notebook and ask the big questions. What did I accomplish? What didn’t I? Where did I drift? Where did I grow? It felt responsible to measure my life in tidy twelve-month increments. 

And of course, resolutions were part of the ritual. Exercise more. Write more. Eat better. Call people back. Waste less time. The usual list that somehow manages to be both ambitious and vague. I’d draft them carefully, almost ceremoniously, as though this were less about self-improvement and more about launching a strategic initiative. Some years I kept them. 

Some years I didn’t. Most years they faded quietly by March, overtaken by the simple business of living. 

What I’ve come to wonder is this: why do we assume that January is the only legitimate time to evaluate our lives? 

Life doesn’t actually operate on a calendar-year schedule. Insights show up in April. Regret taps you on the shoulder in September. Gratitude sneaks in on a random Tuesday in June when nothing extraordinary has happened except that you suddenly notice you’re content. There’s no confetti. No countdown. Just a quiet realization that something has shifted. 

Some of my most honest moments of self-assessment haven’t come at the beginning of a year at all. They’ve arrived in the middle — usually uninvited. A project stalls. A plan unravels. An opportunity appears that I hadn’t considered. Something forces a pause. And in that pause comes the question: Is this still working? Is this still what I want? 

That kind of stock-taking feels different. Less ceremonial. More urgent. More real. 

It doesn’t involve a new planner or a neatly ruled page. It’s more like recalibration than resolution. A small course correction. Sometimes a bigger turn. Often just a quiet adjustment in attitude. 

I’ve also noticed that the January model carries a subtle pressure. There’s something about declaring a resolution that feels bold — and faintly theatrical. “This year I will…” It sounds decisive. Strong. Determined. But it can also set up a kind of pass-fail system. By February, if the gym visits are irregular or the word count is low, the narrative shifts to disappointment. 

And disappointment is not exactly motivating. 

Periodic reflection throughout the year feels gentler. It’s less about reinvention and more about awareness. A quarterly check-in, perhaps. Or even a monthly one. Not to judge, but to notice. What’s energizing me? What’s draining me? What have I quietly outgrown? What have I been avoiding? 

Those questions don’t require fireworks or champagne. They can be asked on an ordinary Wednesday afternoon. 

There’s also something to be said for the accumulation of small adjustments. We often imagine growth as dramatic — a bold new direction, a sweeping change. But more often it’s incremental. A habit tweaked here. A boundary set there. A decision to say yes — or no — when it matters. 

In that sense, life feels less like an annual report and more like an ongoing conversation. 

That doesn’t mean I’ve abandoned New Year’s reflections entirely. I still appreciate the symbolism of a fresh start. There’s something psychologically satisfying about a clean page. It invites hope. It suggests possibility. I suspect that’s why we cling to resolutions. They’re declarations of optimism. Statements of belief that we can, in fact, do better. 

But I’ve softened my approach. 

Instead of rigid resolutions, I lean toward intentions. Instead of sweeping promises, I try for directional nudges. Less “I will completely transform this aspect of my life,” and more “I’d like to move in this direction.” The difference may seem subtle, but it changes the tone. It allows room for humanity. 

Because if there’s one thing the past few years have demonstrated, it’s that life resists our neat timelines. Circumstances shift. Priorities change. Energy ebbs and flows. What felt urgent in January may feel irrelevant by July — and that’s not failure. That’s evolution. 

So do I take stock only at the beginning of the year? Not anymore. I try — not always successfully — to do it periodically. When something feels off. When something feels especially right. When I sense drift. When I sense growth. 

Resolutions? Sometimes. But they’re quieter now. Less proclamation, more intention. Less public vow, more private awareness. 

Maybe the point isn’t to reinvent ourselves every January. Maybe it’s simply to stay awake to our own lives. To notice when we’re aligned and when we’re not. To allow for course corrections without waiting for permission from the calendar. 

After all, change doesn’t wait for January. 

And neither should we. 

QUESTION: Do you think this post sounded like me? What if I told you it was written by ChatGPT? It was. Last Friday I had a chat with friends about AI and thought it would be interesting to ask ChatGPT to write this week’s blog. I fed it five random blogs from last year and then told it to write an 800 word blog post. I hope you don’t think it’s cheating. It was only intended as an interesting exercise. I was surprised at how well-written and well-thought-out the post was. But…does it sound like me? Not entirely. I do tend to write in little chunks for the blog, but these were real "sound bites." Also, it seemed a little repetitious--the same ideas reworded.

What do you think?