DEAR IDA: I started the new year with a long list of resolutions and a shiny new planner, but by the afternoon of January 1st I was already back on the couch, scrolling my phone and eating leftover fudge.

Every year I tell myself “this is the year I get organized, lose weight, save money, and finally become the calm, put‑together person I’m supposed to be.” Every year, by about January 2nd, I feel like I’ve already failed and might as well wait until next year to try again.

How do I set goals for the new year without turning it into an all‑or‑nothing performance that leaves me feeling like a failure before the Christmas tree is even down? – RESOLUTION‑WORN IN RUSTON

DEAR RESOLUTION‑WORN IN RUSTON: If leftover fudge and a couch disqualified people from self‑improvement, half the country would have to sit the new year out.

The problem is not that you “failed” by January 2nd; the problem is that you are trying to reinvent your entire life in one weekend. New Year’s culture sells a fantasy: that a new planner and a burst of guilt can turn a human being into a flawless productivity robot. You are not broken because you couldn’t keep 14 resolutions going while still tripping over wrapping paper. You are just human.

Instead of a performance, treat this year like an experiment. Pick one small, boring, almost embarrassingly doable change and focus on that for January alone. Not “lose weight,” but “take a 15‑minute walk after dinner three nights a week.” Not “get organized,” but “spend five minutes before bed clearing one surface or making tomorrow’s to‑do list.” Lower the bar until you can step over it in your worst mood, not leap over it at your most inspired.

Also, separate your worth from your results. You are not “supposed to be” some mythical calm, put‑together saint by February. You are allowed to be a work in progress who sometimes eats fudge on the couch and still makes good decisions on Monday. When you miss a day, the rule is not “start over next year.” It’s “start over at the next opportunity”—the next hour, the next morning, the next paycheck.

Here’s a simple structure for your January:

• One habit for your body (walk, stretch, drink water before coffee).
• One habit for your mind (read 10 pages, journal for 5 minutes, sit in silence).
• One habit for your future self (pay one bill on time, delete 20 emails, clean one drawer).

Write them down, tell one trusted person, and give yourself permission to be imperfect and persistent instead of perfect and exhausted.

If your planner makes you feel like you’re auditioning for a new personality, close it for a week. Grab a sticky note and write: “Today: one small thing that helps Tomorrow Me.” Do that, consistently and quietly, and by next January you won’t need a performance—you’ll already be living the kind of life your resolutions keep pretending to promise.