Authenticity Over Resolutions
As January rolls around and gym membership renewals hit an all-time high, I’ll be one of those people proudly resurrecting my Planet Fitness membership from its long winter’s nap.
You know the one—where your key tag has been sitting in a drawer like, “I’m ready whenever you are.” And suddenly, in January, we all remember it exists.
I find the ritual oddly comforting. The familiar smell of rubber mats and disinfectant. The quiet nods exchanged between people who haven’t seen each other since last January. The collective, unspoken agreement that this year might be different—or at least that we’re willing to try again.
While I don’t have any plans to set traditional New Year’s resolutions—no dramatic declarations, no vision board summits, no “new year, new me” energy—I also don’t believe people should be talked out of setting intentions or goals at the beginning of the year.
There’s something genuinely fun about a fresh start. Not because January is magically different from December 31st, but because our brains like symbolism, and calendars give us permission to try again without dragging last year’s baggage into the room.
Somewhere along the way, resolutions got a bad reputation. Research, the media, and even well-meaning family members love to remind us that statistically speaking, we won’t keep them. The message often sounds like: “No one sticks to resolutions. You’ll quit by February. Save yourself the disappointment.”
Of course, the naysayers are often speaking from their own experience—projecting just a little—and sure, many people do quit. Usually right around the time leg day introduces itself. But for some people, that’s not the whole story. And for others, even a short-lived attempt still counts as movement—physically, mentally, or emotionally.
Because of this collective side-eye toward resolutions, alternative approaches have stepped into the spotlight. We’ve got intention-setting, habit stacking, choosing a word of the year, aligning goals with values, or simply committing to doing the next right thing without announcing it to the internet.
These methods take the pressure off perfection and replace it with curiosity. Instead of asking, “What’s wrong with me that I need to fix?” they invite a gentler question: “What feels supportive? What feels interesting? What feels human?”
With that being said, maybe the best resolution—the one that could actually lead to all other resolutions—is simply this: be your authentic self.
Not the version of yourself you think you should be. Not the version shaped by expectations, algorithms, or comparison. Just you. As you are. In your body. In your life. In this season.
That doesn’t mean doing anything illegal, harmful, dangerous, or that violates other human beings—just to be clear. It means listening to your body and your inner voice when it quietly (or not so quietly) tells you what it is yearning to experience.
Because if we were truly operating from authenticity, we probably wouldn’t be going to the gym solely because we think being skinny is the only way we’re allowed to love ourselves or feel confident enough to leave the house next summer. We wouldn’t believe that biceps, pecs, or a six-pack are required to summon a romantic partner into our lives like some kind of very sweaty mating ritual.
Looking back, most of the goals I’ve had that were driven by society’s expectations didn’t last very long. When I wanted to do something to please my family, earn brownie points with my boss, or catch the eye of a suitor, my motivation faded quickly. External validation, it turns out, is not a renewable energy source.
But when the goal came from somewhere deeper—somewhere internal—that was different.
I remember wanting to run a marathon, not to prove anything to anyone else, but simply to see what my body was capable of at my age. Marathon day taught me lessons far beyond training. I watched a plus-size woman running with all her might wearing a shirt that read, “If you think I’m fat now, you should have seen me 400 lbs ago!” She inspired me deeply—proof that we all start somewhere.
I also saw two little girls, one Black and one white, holding hands as they ran together. That image reminded me that the world is what we choose to see and create. Despite cursing myself during the final stretch, finishing that marathon meant overcoming my ego, self-doubt, and perceived limitations.
The same was true when I learned salsa dancing. I was a stiff church girl carrying old trauma and little appreciation for the body God gave me. Learning to move freely—to feel rhythm and connection—changed how I showed up in the world. I stopped hiding.
Over the years, I’ve noticed that the things I stayed committed to were rooted in authenticity. They connected me more deeply to others, expanded my understanding of humanity, and felt meaningful rather than forced.
Many of these paths were things I pursued even when people told me I was too old, didn’t have rhythm, or should choose something more practical. Many of these paths I ventured upon despite the voices in my head, where negative self-talk and fear dared keep me smaller than life. It didn’t matter. It was an opportunity. Each year is an opportunity.
Those opportunities called my name—quietly but persistently—and following them created energy rather than draining it.
I recently read somewhere that the only energy that resonates higher than love is authenticity. You might wonder how that could be? Nothing outranks love! I can see the truth in that. Nevertheless, that thought stayed with me. Authenticity definitely requires deep self-love—trusting yourself enough to live in ways that truly serve you. Abandoning societies norm to be true to yourself without fear of acceptance, resentment, or self-abandonment.
This is simply a perspective of the New Year Traditions that we face once again. But it makes me wonder: what if we scrapped New Year’s resolutions entirely? What if the only charge we gave ourselves was to follow what truly calls to us, regardless of what others think or say, and trust that yellow brick road that leads us back home to ourselves?
No guarantees. No perfection. Just curiosity, courage, and a willingness to listen inward.
Sometimes being better next year isn’t about fixing anything. Sometimes it’s about accepting yourself exactly as you are—loving your quirky sense of humor, embracing your body, even if it’s rocking the reverse of a Brazilian butt lift for the fifty-fifth year in a row.
Honestly, that feels like a resolution worth keeping, and leads me to reflect on a traditional song of the New Year here in America- Auld Lang Syne
If you're unfamiliar, here's how it goes-
Verse 1
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne?
Chorus
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.
Verse 2
And surely ye’ll be your pint-stowp!
And surely I’ll be mine!
And we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.
Verse 3
We twa hae run about the braes,
And pou’d the gowans fine;
But we’ve wander’d mony a weary fit,
Sin’ auld lang syne.
Verse 4
We twa hae paidl’d in the burn,
Frae morning sun till dine;
But seas between us braid hae roar’d
Sin’ auld lang syne.
Verse 5
And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere!
And gie's a hand o’ thine!
And we’ll tak a right guid-willie waught,
For auld lang syne.
Final Chorus
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.
Aude Lang Syne isn’t about becoming someone new. It’s about honoring what’s been, the people who shaped us, and carrying forward connection—not pressure.
It’s essentially a musical reminder that:
- You don’t have to erase the past to begin again
- Growth can include remembrance
- Kindness (to self and others) is the real ritual
Lastly, here is my prayer for you (and your family and loved ones!)
May this new year meet you gently.
May it not demand reinvention, hustle, or proof of worth.
May it invite you instead to arrive as you are—
breathing, becoming, unfinished, and whole.
May you release the stories that say you must earn rest,
shrink yourself to belong,
or become someone else to be loved.
May you remember that you are already enough
before a single goal is set or crossed off.
May you listen closely to what calls your name—
not loudly, not urgently,
but quietly, persistently,
from the place in you that knows what is true.
May you trust your body.
May you honor its wisdom, its limits, its strength,
and its long memory of all you have carried and survived.
May movement be joyful, rest be sacred,
and self-care be an act of respect rather than correction.
May you follow the breadcrumbs of curiosity and courage,
even when they lead you off the well-worn path.
May you have the bravery to disappoint expectations
that were never meant to define you.
May your connections deepen—
with others, with purpose,
and most importantly, with yourself.
May authenticity guide you more than approval,
and may love—rooted in truth—shape the way you live.
And when you stumble, may you be kind to yourself.
When you change your mind, may you trust that too.
When you grow tired, may you remember
that rest is not failure—it is wisdom.
May this year be less about becoming
and more about remembering who you are.
May you walk into it whole, curious, and free.
Amen.
And so it is.
-- Dr. Rachel