Goals + Habits > Resolutions

Making 2026 Happen

Jan 02, 2026

two person standing on gray tile paving — Photo by Ian Schneider on Unsplash

Once upon a time, I made New Year’s Resolutions.

I announced them with confidence. I wrote them down with good intentions. I promised myself this would be the year I finally stuck with them.

On average, I lasted two or three weeks. Sometimes I made it a whole month.

Then came the slow fade. The skipped days. The “I’ll start again next week” logic. And the familiar companion I never invited but always showed up anyway: shame.

It took me years to realize something important about myself: Resolutions don’t work for me. Neither do year-long challenges, streaks, or all-or-nothing commitments.

My inner contrarian seems hellbent on making sure I don’t complete anything that feels like a mandate. Unless, of course, we’re talking about a real date with a real man.

The moment something turns into a rigid ritual or hard rule, my brain starts plotting its rebellion. It isn’t trying to be difficult. It just wants room to breathe, move, and be free.

So I stopped making resolutions and started setting goals. And forming new habits that actually fit my life.

This shift has made a huge difference.

Goals and habits feel different in my body. They don’t bark orders or wag fingers. They invite curiosity instead of compliance. They ask, “What would make your life better?” instead of “Why can’t you get your shit together?”

I like simple goals. Attainable goals. Human-sized goals. Goals that improve my life rather than overhaul it. Goals that inspire growth without demanding perfection.

I think of my goals as seeds instead of ultimatums.

Resolutions want instant transformation. Goals understand seasons.

A resolution says, “Be a new person starting January 1.”
A goal says, “Let’s take one small step and see what happens.”

And here’s something else I’ve learned along the way: small goals are how real habits are built. Not through force or willpower, but through repetition that feels doable. Small actions, done often enough, start to wire themselves into your days. They compound quietly and build momentum quickly.

Goals and habits don’t need to announce themselves. They don’t need to trend. But over time, they quietly change landscapes…and lives.

I don’t need to become a radically different person in 2026. I like who I am. I just want to become a slightly better version of myself.

For me, setting goals feels like nourishment, not punishment.

Some of my goals are practical:

Drink more water.
Protect my sleep.
Move and groove my body more often.

Some of my goals are creative:

Make more without worrying about monetization.
Follow curiosity without asking where it’s going.
Finish things because they matter to me, not because an algorithm or audience demands them.

Some of my goals are emotional:

Practice rest without guilt.
Notice when I’m spiraling and self-soothe sooner.
Choose kindness and softness over self-criticism.

Most of my goals are tied to new habits, too. Together, they represent gentler ways of responding to myself with care instead of cruelty. They don’t need to be completed perfectly to be worthwhile. They don’t expire if I miss a week. They don’t shame me if I stumble or need to reset. They aren’t contracts or commandments. They are guides that help me keep moving forward, even when I take the long way around.

I’ve learned that goals and habits work best for me when they’re rooted in reality. Not in who I wish I were, but in who I actually am. My rhythms. My limits. My history. My overly sensitive nervous system.

Fantasy versions of ourselves make great vision boards. But they make terrible accountability partners.

Real growth happens when we meet ourselves honestly and ask, “What’s one small habit that would make this year feel a little lighter? A little steadier? A little more alive?”

That’s where the good goals and habits live.

Not in grand declarations. Not in public promises designed to impress. But in quiet intentions that feel doable.

I don’t need 2026 to be perfect.

I need it to be sustainable.

I need it to hold space for joy and grief, momentum and rest, ambition and recovery. I need room to change my mind. To revise. To pause. To start all over if necessary.

Goals and habits allow that. Resolutions rarely do.

So this year, I’m planting seeds. I’m building habits gently. I’m tending small plots. I’m trusting that consistent care—even imperfect care—will produce something worth harvesting. No countdown clocks. No shame spirals. No dramatic “New Year, New Me” proclamations.

Just me. Showing up. Adjusting as needed. Making 2026 happen one reasonable, compassionate goal and habit at a time.

Keep calm and Happy New Year on!
Clint 🌈✌️

P.S. I’m grateful to all who choose to tune into me and my work. I’m back to work on montages and excited about some new projects on the horizon. What are you excited about or even curious about? Enqueering minds want to know!