This might sound like laziness to the outside world. “But you must have goals!” they say, eyebrows at peak altitude, like having no plan is tantamount to parking yourself on a couch with potato chips and a sense of existential guilt. But what if not having resolutions is actually a healthier way to engage with life?
Let’s unpack that gently — not with a bucket of pressure and shame — but with a cup of tea and some honesty.
The Pressure of Resolutions
I’ve watched people in January buzz with energy about reshaping their lives: “This year I will write 5000 words a day, wake up at 4:30, be vegan, meditate for 90 minutes, run ultras, learn Japanese, and launch a TED Talk on Tuesdays.” It’s beautiful in its enthusiasm. But by late January? Most of that fizzles like cheap fireworks under rain.
There’s a psychological concept here called the “expectation–reality gap.” It’s the gap between what we expect will happen and what actually does. The bigger the gap, the more disappointed we feel. When we load ourselves up with resolutions, we’re essentially placing a giant neon target on our backs saying, “Please measure me and judge me by this.” That pressure is stress. Stress creates anxiety. Anxiety leads to self-criticism. And then we wonder why February starts with guilt and ends with abandon.
Elizabeth Gilbert, the author of Eat, Pray, Love, has this lovely insight: “Be willing to be a beginner every single morning.” That doesn’t mean having no direction; it means giving yourself the grace to start small, unguardedly, and without the gladiatorial armour of high expectations. It’s a permission slip to just be, not perform.
The Fear of Failing
One thing I’m genuinely protecting myself from this year is the fear of failing. Not failing at tasks — that’s trivial — but failing at who I think I’m supposed to be. When I make a resolution, I’m transporting myself into the future I wishI’ll achieve. And trust me, if life has taught me anything, it’s that the future laughs in your face sometimes.
A study in the Journal of Clinical Psychology looked at people who set New Year’s resolutions versus those who did not. It showed that people with strict resolutions often felt worse about themselves by mid-year because they compared their actual behaviours to their ideal self-standards and kept seeing a gap. Those without rigid resolutions were actually more content because they weren’t constantly measuring themselves against a checklist of should-dos. They lived more in the is, not the ought.
I want to chill. That’s it. I want to exist in the present with a calm heart and a playful curiosity about what might come. If someone asks, “So what’s your plan?” I want to be able to say, “To flow with life, not fight it.” That doesn’t make me directionless — it makes me deliberate without pressure. That is a nuance we rarely celebrate.
Chill is Valid
“Chill” is a word that carries quiet courage. It says: “I am okay with the messy, unphotogenic parts of life.” It honours the days where nothing spectacular happens and the days where everything reorganises itself. It welcomes both silence and noise.
There’s a Buddhist concept called “beginner’s mind” — Shoshin — which means approaching life without preconceived expectations, with openness and lack of judgement. It’s not about being passive; it’s about being receptive. My resolution for 2026 — if I had to name it — would be intentional presence with no predetermined endpoints. I want to show up, not show off.
Even successful people talk about this. The great poet Mary Oliver wrote, “Tell me, what is it you plan to do / with your one wild and precious life?” Not “What achievements will you list on LinkedIn?” but “What will you feel, notice, and cherish?” That doesn’t sound like a productivity spreadsheet. That sounds like living.
And let’s be honest: when someone says they have no plan, people tilt their heads like, “Uhh, so … what are you doing?” It’s as though not planning must mean you’re doing nothing. But that’s a shallow reading of existence. You can have richness without a rigid blueprint. You can grow without a seminar schedule. You can love without a goal tracker. You can be curious without a curriculum.
The Irony of Goal-Setting
Goals are not bad. I’m not here to cancel them. But they are cultural pressure, and they don’t always serve wellbeing. We grow up in a world that applauds the measurable: diplomas, promotions, pay slips, trophies. If it’s not quantifiable, it’s not considered worthy. But life doesn’t always respect numbers.
Because here’s the irony: the more desperately we chase outcomes — I must write a book! — the more we cripple the creative spirit that birthed the desire in the first place. The fear of not finishing can be more stifling than the act of writing itself.
Conversely, when we remove the pressure, something surprising happens. Creativity flows. Play returns. The heart becomes lighter. Poet Rainer Maria Rilke had advice for a young aspiring writer: “Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves.” Loving the questions has nothing to do with efficiency.
So I’ll love my questions in 2026: What feels good today? What makes my heart calm and curious? What deepens my relationships? What brings joy without the burden of metrics? These are not goals on a chart — they are compass bearings.
No Expectations = Less Fear
Expectations are essentially future assumptions: “This should happen.” But life rarely adheres to “shoulds.” When expectation meets reality, we either get disappointment or surprise. If we brace for disappointment, we dull our joy. If we anticipate positive outcomes as fixed, we’re shocked when plans fail.
In psychology, there’s a concept called cognitive flexibility — the ability to adapt our thinking when circumstances change. People with high cognitive flexibility tend to have lower anxiety and higher wellbeing. Whereas rigid expectations often lead to distress when life doesn’t go as scripted. So by letting go of resolutions, I’m not giving up; I’m embracing flexibility. I’m saying, “Life can surprise me, and I’ll be okay.” That’s a powerful stance.
There’s a Zen koan that goes: “If you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him.” Metaphorically, it means do not chase an idealised image — even if it’s spiritual — because the search itself becomes a barrier. This kind of radical acceptance is similar to walking into a new year without a resolution. I’m not running after an ideal self. I’m not chasing a future that may never align with reality. I’m just here.
The Unexpected Benefits of “No Resolution”
What happens when you remove the heavy suitcase of expectations?
You pay attention. You notice small moments. You appreciate the casual conversations, the slow cups of tea, the unplanned laughter. You give yourself permission to adapt.
There was a longitudinal study in positive psychology where people who engaged in mindful living — paying attention to day-to-day experiences without judgement — reported higher life satisfaction and lower stress compared to those who were goal-obsessed. Not necessarily because they achieved more, but because they experienced more fully what was happening around them.
Without a resolution, I get to be present. Not projecting into the future. Not obsessing over performance. Just being here, with life as it is.
And here’s a little humour: people with no resolutions often end up doing things without realising. It’s like that old line, “If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans.” Life has its own sense of humour, and sometimes the most meaningful experiences come unannounced — like surprising guests, unexpected opportunities, or moments of joy that weren’t on any plan.
Reframing “No Plan” as Freedom
Some people hear “no resolution” and think it’s an excuse for aimlessness. But that’s a misunderstanding. I’m not saying I will float like a leaf with no intention. I’m saying I will move with intention without predefined targets.
There’s freedom in this. It’s like walking into a forest without a map but with awareness of the path under your feet, the sound of birds, the texture of leaves. You don’t know where you’re going, but you’re walking consciously. You are open, not rigid. You are receptive, not beating yourself up because you missed a waypoint.
This approach honours whatever 2026 throws at me. If it’s a gentle year, I’ll enjoy it. If it’s a stormy year, I’ll navigate it. If it’s something indescribable in between, I’ll breathe through it. This is not passive fatalism. This is mindful participation in my life.
So Here’s My Year
No resolution. No heavy expectations. Just presence, curiosity, and kindness to myself. I want to laugh more. I want to rest without guilt. I want to show up in relationships without checking an achievement list. If I write, brilliant. If I rest, also brilliant. If I create something unexpected, even better.
I want to live a year where my scorecard isn’t in outcomes but in moments felt deeply, kindness offered easily, and presence given freely.
If you asked me a year from now, “How was your 2026?” I want to say, “I lived it with openness. I didn’t crush myself with shoulds. I noticed small beauties. I adapted. I allowed myself rest. I honoured my pace.” That — to me — sounds like a resolution without calling it one.
Maybe resolutions aren’t bad. Maybe it’s the weaponisation of them — as measurements of self-worth — that causes stress. But for now, 2026 is going to be my year of intentional slow living, uncluttered by the tyranny of expectations.
And that — yes — is completely okay.
Written by: Adi Jamaludin
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