My New Year’s Resolution: Abolish The Myth Of Perfect Timing

The figures prove it: every January, gym memberships experience a roughly 30% spike — likely, as a result of valiant efforts to fulfill New Year’s Resolutions. Yet, 50% of said gym memberships are cancelled by February or March. We can attribute this phenomenon to many causes — such as expenses or setting unrealistic health goals — but to me, these seem to simply be convenient justifiers. What’s fascinating is that we repeat this cycle year after year, fully aware of the statistics, yet somehow convinced that this time will be different. 

We tell ourselves that January’s first day possesses some magical quality that will override our past failures, as if the flip of a calendar page could rewire some neural pathways. But the pattern persists because when we’re not addressing the root issue, we’re conflating the significance of a date with the substance of commitment. The real cause? New Year’s isn’t particularly a good time to initiate positive change. In fact, there’s never a good time to start.

So often, we find ourselves waiting for the “right” time. I’ll consider picking up that hobby once the semester ends; I’ll start my work when the clock hits 6 p.m.; I’ll hit the gym on Monday. These comforting, albeit arbitrary, markers give us some sense of peace, disguising procrastination as planning. Let me clarify, I’d hardly consider myself “life-coach” material; in fact, I’ve vowed to lose the same 10 pounds since New Year’s Day of 2020, but more often than not, we find ourselves paralyzed by the promise of the absolution of the New Year, or a week’s beginning, or the next hour made whole. 

This paralysis extends beyond fitness. We postpone difficult conversations until “the right moment,” delay career changes until we have “enough experience,” and wait to pursue creative projects until we have “more free time.” The pattern is universal: we defer action in favor of an imagined future version of ourselves who will somehow be more prepared, more motivated, more capable. But that future self never materializes because it’s built on the same foundation of avoidance we’re standing on today.

The emotional comfort of postponement is alluring — it allows us to maintain the identity of someone who has goals without enduring the discomfort of actually pursuing them. But when has waiting ever proved to be an effective catalyst for progress? 

Around the New Year, a strange storm of collective pressure to ‘start fresh’ presents itself, more than just the usual: I’ll wait until it’s more convenient. Ultimately, this throws us into a communal performative goal-setting, like primates throwing feces at the wall just to see what sticks. Social media networks have only catalyzed this phenomenon, transforming personal resolutions into public declarations. We craft our vision boards, post gym selfies on Jan. 2, and announce our intentions to the void of the internet. The performance becomes the point. We’ve gamified self-improvement to the extent that declaring the goal feels like an accomplishment in itself. 

January’s promise of a blank slate inspires millions worldwide to build a list of resolutions, yet I rarely hear about these goals past April. Winter, the harshest season, begins to come to a close in the new year. The approaching months of late sunsets and early sunrises inspire the very same in us: be the first to arrive and the last to leave. We hear about those around us and their ambitious resolutions, and push to prove that we’re capable of the same, in turn prioritizing the actual declaration of goal-setting over the action of following through.

Ironically enough, accepting that there’s no such thing as the “perfect time” to start can liberate us. Acknowledging the imperfect circumstances around addressing our flaws removes barriers and underlying pressures to perform. There’s an advantage to starting mid-mess, mid-week, or mid-life. It speaks to the very nature of our imperfect existence and emphasizes our autonomy in accepting that, while we cannot change our circumstances, we can always take hold of what we make of it. What does it actually look like to start in imperfect conditions? It means having the difficult conversation on a random evening rather than waiting for a calm weekend that never comes. It means submitting the imperfect draft instead of endlessly revising in pursuit of an unattainable standard. 

Starting mid-mess forces us to develop real resilience because we can’t rely on ideal conditions as a crutch. We learn to work with what we have rather than what we wish and wait for. This approach builds a more sustainable relationship with change — we stop treating self-improvement as an event and start treating it as a constant, integrated part of our lives. Ideal conditions are for flying and fishing, linear and static experiences solely dependent on the occurrences contextualizing them. Resilience isn’t founded in waiting for the right moment; it’s built over time through commitment to positive change year-round, even when the timing is all wrong, and the odds are stacked against you. 

After all, who ever fell off the horse and promised to get back in the saddle on Monday?

Rejecting the myth of the “perfect start time” doesn’t have to be a death sentence. Progress isn’t vowing to fulfill some master plan. It’s setting small, specific, and attainable goals, and chipping away bit by bit. There’s no such thing as a perfect start, and there is beauty in beginning imperfectly — it teaches us to adjust as needed. Progress doesn’t have to be linear when you start amidst the chaos. In accepting this eternal truth, failure and subsequent modification become part of the process, not reasons to quit and wait until next year to try again. I decided to be a vegetarian on a random Thursday, and found it much simpler than counting down the days until the time when the simple pleasure of meat would be ripped from my hands. Capitalize on sudden bursts of inspiration; you never know when the next one will find you.

Now, I’m not arguing that all deadlines are meaningless or that structure serves no purpose. External deadlines, the ones imposed by work, school, or genuine commitments, can be useful forcing functions. But there is a crucial difference between a deadline that creates accountability and an arbitrary marker we create to justify inaction. The former propels us forward; the latter paralyzes us. 

Those who succeed in fulfilling their promises to positive change rarely open gym memberships on Jan. 1. This year, I am vowing to never make a list of New Year’s resolutions again, except for maybe one item: start today.  

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