There are plenty of practical reasons to skip New Year’s Resolutions. 

Studies show they don’t stick. Plus, they are often laced with shame and guilt about the ways society says we aren’t measuring up—or rather, the ways we are taking up too much space. Cue the diet, gym, and home decluttering advertisements that have taken over my online feed

Pastor Nadia Bolz-Weber gives us this yearly reminder: “There is no resolution that, if kept, will make you more worthy of love. You, as your actual self and not as some made up ideal, are already worthy.”

Even so, I am pro-resolution because I am pro-reflection. I like to take time at the end of the year to take stock, to look back, to look ahead, and to set intentions. 

Educational philosopher John Dewey reminds us that, “We don’t learn from experience, we learn from reflecting on experience.”

Plus, in the midst of the cold Midwest winter, I find it helpful to have a January resolution to help me navigate the dark days ahead. I need that tiny bit of—not exactly motivation—but momentum to urge myself from a deliberately relaxed and mostly unscheduled Christmas break back to routine and work. If left to my own devices, I’d stay in my cozy sweatshirt and warm slippers and do jigsaw puzzles until the first daffodils of spring, but, unfortunately, my calendar includes other plans.

There are a myriad of ways to approach resolutions. I have a friend who takes her family out for lunch on New Years Day and they go around the table to identify  goals for the year. New York Times columnist Julia Rothman is credited for popularizing drawing up  a More/Less List: “More museums, writing, European trips, dog fostering. . . less stressing the small stuff, overprocessed food, ChatGPTing symptoms, canceling plans.” Writer David Sedaris recalls watching his mother every New Year’s Eve as she hurriedly filled a stack of index cards. Only after her death did he realize they all carried the same simple message: Be good.

I pick a word for my year. 

Early in December, I begin to reflect and discern: what word or idea is prodding me? My word last year was “gentle,” but this year I felt directed to something more active, something about being a little greedy about the things I care most about. Something about being present—not giving in to scrolling or going numb when that’s so easy to succumb to in light of the unsettling state of our world. 

I considered lots of words: “Claim, seize, attend, lean, wake, hold, savor, harvest, gather.” And yet, I felt called to steer away from productivity, from the false illusion of self-control. What I might need is not to do more, but less. To  pay better attention to what matters. 

My word for 2026 is SLOW.

Years ago, when I was new to my church, a woman stopped to introduce herself. She said she had noticed me because, each Sunday, as I walked down the aisle with three small children in tow, I “walked with a purpose.” She meant it kindly, of course, but that comment has always stuck with me. What does it say if, even in my stride, I communicate urgency, and maybe even a tiny bit of self-importance? What if I walked more often with less of a purpose? What if I slowed down? What might I see differently? 

Urgency isn’t something I have to manufacture; it’s my default setting. (Others might label this anxiety, but, remember, I’m pacing myself. Don’t expect me to fix everything at once.)

When I receive an email or text, I feel an immediate rush to respond. Notifications are too effective at grabbing my attention. When someone makes a comment, I reply quickly. When Google Maps tells me how long it will take to get somewhere, I treat it as a challenge to beat.

So this year, I’m working on slowing down.

Slow means leaving my Christmas tree up days, maybe even weeks, after the holiday because I’m not ready to part with its light.

Slow means not avoiding  “friction” – resisting the simplicity of AI. It reminds us that life is not about discovery, not always finding the fastest and easiest way from point A to point B.

Slow means choosing books over the internet.

Slow means more deep breaths; more pauses. It’s remembering Victor Frankl’s wisdom that “Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.”

Slow means walking to pay attention, to notice, to feel the joy and privilege  of movement, not to beat a record set by the watch on my wrist.

Slow means savoring food instead of scarfing it down.

Slow means listening more, harder. It’s attempting to understand someone else before I jump to my own conclusions or share my own thoughts. 

Slow means feeling the pain of the world. It’s allowing the news to continue to break my heart rather than turning brittle or apathetic.

Slow means intentionality. Considering how my time is best spent—not in a legalistic way, but in leaning away from instant gratification to something more sustaining. 

Slow means grace. For myself. For others. 

What might be your word for the year?

Header photo by Glen Carrie on Unsplash
Peas on a plate photo by Elena Leya on Unsplash
Reflection photo by Randy Jacob on Unsplash
Slow road sign photo by Anisa Gauri on Unsplash