What follows is yet another banal and unhelpful discussion of New Year’s Resolutions, a particularly obnoxious species of essay that sprouts from January’s frozen soil like winter broccoli. Conscientious columnists avoid them like run-on sentences. Writers of more elastic integrity find them expedient for avoiding the actual work of writing something useful and informative in December. Apologies are hereby implied. Some very small effort has been made to shade this tedious topic with a faint blush of interest.
Gen Z makes the most New Year’s Resolutions. Gen Zers tend to feelings of guilt and failure when their resolutions don’t take. This is because Gen Z takes them seriously.
Boomers make the fewest, and they don’t get bent out of shape over pledges unfulfilled. This is because Boomer resolutions have been stumbling right out of the gate for decades, and it’s hard to feel invested in an odds-on loser.
If your New Year’s Resolutions aren’t worth the paper they’re not written on, it’s because you’re relying on yourself alone to service the contract. You are by brute nature irresolute, an undisciplined creature of impulse and appetite, poorly equipped to effect the momentous change you intend for your life. This is not to say you shouldn’t continue your annual bid for self-improvement. You just need to farm the job out to somebody with the juice to git ’er done, a specialist in making your particular New Year’s wish come true. Understand, however, that your hired gun’s services won’t be free.
Health
The most popular New Year’s Resolutions reference health and wellness, promises to eat better, exercise more, weigh less, and generally treat your long-suffering body like the temple you like to think it is. When the ancient Egyptians felt a cold wind from the tomb, they made an appointment with Sekhmet, cat-headed daughter of the sun god, Ra. The hot winds of the desert were said to be Sekhmet’s breath, and it carried plague unto the unjust and unworthy. But wrathful Sekhmet was also the Egyptians’ healer on high, and she could be yours, too. The co-pay for enlisting her in your New Year’s health plan is burnt offerings of pomegranates and animal blood, and drinking red-stained beer until you fall into a coma. For faster service, whisper your resolution to a mummified cat.
Money
If you were good with money you’d be rich already and not planning to retire on whatever you dig out of the sofa cushions. Still, you’re quite sure that resolving to get rich quick in ’26 will shift your economic engine into overdrive. When ancient Scandinavians were feeling the financial pinch, they turned to Njoror, son of night and earth, Norse god of the sea, divine bestower of wealth, and possibly your best hope for solvency. The best way to get Njoror’s attention is by walking along the seashore with your feet in the water while throwing salmon chum into the waves. As this might prove inconvenient for supplicants living in the high/dry Colorado foothills, satisfactory results may be possible at Evergreen Lake with Mrs. Paul’s lightly breaded haddock fillets.
Love
Third in America’s resolution roundup is romance. Alas, love is complicated, and finding just the right muscle to make your amorous aspirations happen could be difficult. Would be, anyway, if the Greeks didn’t provide a matched set of seven winged love gods called the Erotes, each one devoted to helping you overcome your specific amatory obstacles. While lust-god Eros is best known, other bow and arrow-wielding Erotes include Himeros, god of desire, Pothos, god of unrequited love, and Hymenaeus, god of weddings. All are most easily reached on the fourth day of each month. The Herotes don’t take American Express, but they do accept flowers, wine, arrows, and erotic rituals involving prostitutes.
Technology
Dependent as we are on doodads, widgets and gismos, we assume our lives will be better if we have better gadgets, which is why many people resolve to upgrade their electronic arsenal in the New Year. Happily, wise and benevolent Nabu may be able to help you determine which new junk is actually superior to your old junk. While the Babylonian god of science may be more accustomed to advising on subjects like barley fermentation and goat husbandry, a deity of such mighty wisdom has doubtless stayed current and can surely help you decide whether Pro or Pro Max will better suit your social media needs in the coming year. You can persuade Nabu to your cause by inscribing clay tablets with flowery verses about how smart he is and dropping them off at the temple of his big shot father, Marduk, at any time during Akitu, the Babylonian New Year Festival, which is actually in March. If you’re momentarily short on clay, try sending him complimentary emails care of the nearest Apple Store. For best results, demonstrate your humility by having a friend slap you in the face in front of a lot of people.
Environment
One of the hottest resolutions for 2026 is pledging to be nicer to the planet, and a few newly sworn Earth defenders might actually sort their recyclables as far as Saint Valentine’s Day before sliding back into wasteful habits. But with the Aztec Earth goddess Tlaltecuhti in their corner, they could well keep at it straight through Saint Patrick’s Day. Not only is Tlaltecuhti vengeful and terrible to behold, she consumes the sun each evening and vomits it out again every morning, so inspiring you to mulch shouldn’t strain her powers unduly. Keep in mind that Tlaltecuhti is customarily paid with dozens of fresh human hearts every day, so engaging her services will require a strong personal commitment.
That wasn’t so bad, was it? Okay, it was awful. But at least it wasn’t yet another banal and unhelpful year-in-review.
