It’s a new year once again… 2026! Will your new resolutions finally make it past the first half of January?
January begins without fanfare, just a date ticking over. On your feet: new shoes, Nike Air Max 270s, laced tightly. Still, you refuse to loosen them. While your foot repeatedly hits concrete, your ears enjoy music from a playlist titled “Winter Arc, Lock In.”
By the time the second lap rolls past, effort fades out. Your legs lose their will to live, while your thoughts sprint in every direction (or it could just be dinner.) You drag yourself through the door, gasping loudly and unevenly. That cup of extra-caffeinated matcha sits there untouched, waiting without judgment. Four minutes pass, and you stay seated, doing nothing. Somehow, that counts.
A small victory hums beneath your ribs, so you clench your hand tight once. January just began. Setting a simple resolution, like eating healthier, makes a new beginning feel doable. Who knew meal prepping 3 meals could get so messy? Kale leafs have somehow snuck into my pristine, white socks. On the skillet lies what used to be chicken—now a dark lump in the pan (probably something everyone’s resolutions will turn into).
January seventh came, then went, without much notice. Resolutions slipped away: some vanishing fast, others just fading slow. Skipping breakfast check-in for thirteen mornings this term just doesn’t feel wrong anymore. Saying you were “listening to your body” made it sound justified. One day, you end up scrolling in the dorm shower. Looking at reels was meant to clear your head. But then, two full hours were lost while an AI-generated potato kept blabbering about the best way to make French fries. Great Productivity!
January twelfth arrives. That gym bag you bought on Amazon three weeks ago sits ignored, collecting dampness in the darkest corner of your dorm room. Next to it, a plastic bottle of Diet Coke, labeled “healthy” in spirit. Fifty-four M&Ms disappear into your mouth; their colorful shells trick you into thinking that balance exists.
January twentieth. You lie on your bed while staring at a video titled “Why You Should Just Give Up,” as if it was destined to find you. Your head tilts things suddenly make sense (or it’s just stomach trouble).
When it hits 2:58 am, your face lit by the phone’s dim glow, your mouth moves before your mind catches up with mumbled phrases. One phrase slips free from yourself, “Next year at this moment…” Then it trails off… maybe about some big changes next year, or maybe it’s just about buying new socks to replace the ones that were stuffed with kale.
