The “New Year, New Me” Mantra — and Why It Rarely Works

People tend to overestimate their ability to make big changes over the long term — and underestimate their ability to make small changes in the short term.

I don’t know who first dressed that thought in a sentence. Maybe a change coach did. Or a business author. Or a consultant with excellent teeth and a microphone headset.

I’ve heard it repeated by personal trainers and life coaches with the reverence normally reserved for wedding vows. I’ve also seen it quoted by people who paid the price of a used car to attend an international “summit,” where a world-famous keynote speaker says those exact words, and suddenly everyone is morally obliged to post them on LinkedIn, Instagram, X, or Threads. The wisdom trickles down to those who couldn’t afford the ticket — and who, inconveniently, need the change even more.

I can hear how cynical this sounds. I promise I’m not questioning the thought itself. It’s true. And I’m not here to roast coaches, authors, consultants, trainers, keynote speakers, or the eager pilgrims who photograph their lanyards like proof of enlightenment.

What I’m actually interested in is something more awkward. Why does it sometimes feel like there are topics you’re supposed to be interested in — and why do even good ideas so often fail to turn into action?

 

Change Talk as a Social Fact

Émile Durkheim — the classic sociology heavyweight — wrote about social facts: norms, habits, rules, pressures that exist outside the individual yet press on the individual from the outside. They don’t care what you personally want. They’re already in the room when you arrive.

Change talk is a social fact.

You can’t really opt out of it. You can ignore it, sure, but then you become That Person. The one who “doesn’t work on themselves.” The one who “isn’t growing.” The one whose algorithm doesn’t sparkle with accountability.

So most people do the polite thing: they acknowledge the conversation. They participate. They share. They signal the correct kind of interest — and that signalling alone can feel oddly satisfying, like you’ve paid your dues.

And then, with the duty fulfilled, the change itself quietly remains undone.

 

The Tyranny of Targets

Of course, you can’t have change talk without goals. Goals are the respectable clothing change talk wears in public.

There are goals that other people set for you. A sales target, a performance metric, a quarterly number that sits on your shoulder like a bored parrot. And then there are the goals you set for yourself, which tend to arrive on January 1st with dramatic music: lose weight, move more, drink less, meditate, read more books, become the sort of person who owns linen.

Some goals are pleasantly vague: I should lose weight and exercise more. Others are sharp and specific: This summer I’ll run the Stockholm Marathon. Even sharper: …and I’ll do it under three hours.

Specificity is often sold as salvation. The clearer the goal, the easier it is to plan. A sub-three-hour marathon requires roughly a 4:15 min/km pace, structured training, consistency, and the kind of relationship with discomfort that borders on romance.

But vague goals aren’t necessarily bad goals. They’re just goals without gravity. Without a plan, they float around the mind like nice weather.

So people do what people do: they search online for “10 kilos by summer” and find a program that guarantees exactly that. The internet is nothing if not confident.

Then the real question arrives, wearing boots: Will it happen?

And if it doesn’t — is it motivation? Do you need more inspiration? A fresh quote? A stronger punishment? A more expensive seminar?

 

El Capitan, or: The Problem with “Big”

When a goal is big, it’s big even if you’re motivated. Motivation doesn’t shrink the mountain, it only makes you more willing to start climbing it.

Big change is like El Capitan in Yosemite: a sheer face of stone that doesn’t look any smaller just because you’ve divided it into a thousand manageable meters. Go on then, the rock seems to say. One centimetre at a time.

If you’re the visual type, you may try to imagine the finished version of yourself. The After Photo. The transformed life. The mood board where you’re glowing, productive, emotionally regulated, and mysteriously holding a ceramic cup.

But if the distance between that glossy “future you” and your current reality doesn’t shrink fast enough, disappointment moves in. And disappointment is a practical tenant. It brings boxes.

It whispers: Let’s revisit this in spring. Or: In autumn. Or: Next year, properly.

Self-blame, meanwhile, is a faithful bed partner. It doesn’t even need to be invited. It climbs in like it owns the place.

So what’s the solution? Give up on change? Give up on the change conversation? Forget goals entirely? Or start treating yourself like a misbehaving dog who only responds to the rolled-up newspaper? (Important note: it does not work on dogs either and no one must do it)

 

The Only Thing That Works (For Me)

If every attempt to start over came with a printed diploma, I could wallpaper my entire apartment. So yes — I’m a kind of expert. Not in success. In beginnings.

And this is the only thing that reliably works for me:

Whatever the goal is, it has to be achievable within one day.

Not “towards” achievable. Not “one day, eventually.” I mean: within the next twenty-four hours.

Examples:

• Tonight, I sleep 7 hours.
• Today, I eat three proper meals.
• Today, I walk 10,000 steps.
  

That’s it. Not glamorous. Not cinematic. Not particularly postable.

But here’s what happens: completing a daily goal feels good. Not in the performative way, but in the quiet, bodily way. It gives you evidence that you can keep a promise. And evidence is a far better motivator than inspiration.

Now you’re wondering: surely these daily goals connect to some larger mission? Surely there’s a hidden master plan?

No. Not necessarily.

Because this isn’t about earning a future identity. It’s about stabilising the present one.

Sleep builds tomorrow’s energy. Food influences sleep. Movement influences both. It’s an unsexy trinity, and it applies to everyone: elite athletes, presidents (in Finland there isn’t a huge difference), underwear entrepreneurs, and middle-aged writers who pretend they don’t care what people think.

When those three are even reasonably in place, you can handle more. You can take on bigger things without making them into a theatre production.

 

The Morning That Decides the Day

My day starts with a small ritual, nothing mystical, nothing that requires incense. Just a moment to decide what the day is, rather than letting the day decide what I am.

I set the three targets. If the previous night’s sleep was poor, the day becomes about protecting the next night: meal timing, caffeine restraint, a walk even when I’d rather disappear into my screen.

I don’t keep obsessive records. (I’ve met my inner accountant. He is not a good roommate.) I glance at the step counter, because it’s simple. If today doesn’t hit the target, tomorrow gives me another clean page.

And here’s the part people don’t want to hear, because it removes the drama:

The first choice of the day tends to steer the rest of it.

Not always. Life is messy. But often enough to matter.

A good first choice makes the next one easier. A careless first choice makes the day feel like it’s already gone — and then you start living after the day instead of in it.

 

So, What About “New Year, New Me”?

Maybe the problem isn’t the desire to change. Maybe the problem is the scale — the way we ask our nervous system to leap off a cliff because a calendar flipped a page.

“New year, new me” sounds like a rebirth. In practice, it often becomes a setup: a huge promise with no daily structure beneath it. A beautiful sentence with no oxygen.

So try this, instead:

Forget the new you.

Choose the next twenty-four hours.

Make it small enough to be real. Real enough to be repeatable. Repeatable enough to become a life.

And if you want one last cynical observation to keep you company:

The internet will always reward your declarations more than your rituals.

But your body doesn’t care what you posted.

It only cares what you do today.