This New Year, Make a Resolution That Lasts

December 27, 2025

A New Kind of New Year’s Resolution: One That Strengthens the Bonds with the People Who Matter Most

The habit of making New Year’s resolutions has come and gone for me over the decades.

In my twenties and thirties, I made a few — not to actually follow through on, but rather to have something amusing to talk about with friends when the topic inevitably arose. I treated resolutions as social currency: something to toss into conversation between the holiday hangover and the Super Bowl.

In my forties, I stopped making them completely. I knew myself well enough by then to recognize that I wasn’t going to suddenly morph into someone who meal prepped kale salads or trained for a triathlon. So I opted out. Clean break. No guilt. No January 7th self-loathing. Done.

But now, in my mid-fifties, I’m rethinking the whole resolution thing.

I plan on making one that’s all about me — and yes, it will probably be diet and exercise related, because at my age, nothing else I do will have as significant an impact on my healthspan as diet and exercise. I’m not trying to become a different person; I’m just trying to stay functional enough to enjoy the next few decades.

But the other resolution… that’s the one I keep coming back to. Because I want to make a resolution that isn’t about me at all — one that does something for the people I love. Something that strengthens our relationships in a way that matters, not just today but long after this particular New Year’s Eve has faded into the rear-view mirror.

And here’s where things get tricky.

If my family had their say, they’d ask me to be more social and less curmudgeonly. These requests have been made, repeatedly, with no noticeable impact on my behavior. But, since I’m trying to make a resolution I can actually follow through on, those are completely off the table. No promises of accepting dinner party invitations. No becoming “the fun one.” I know my limits.

Instead, I’ve landed on something realistic, meaningful, and shockingly easy:

I am going to record one story a month for my daughter.

Some stories will be about me — things from childhood, early adulthood, my career, my mistakes, my surprises. And some will be about the people closest to me: my wife, my mother, and of course, my daughter. Little memories. Big moments. Life lessons I wish I’d learned earlier. Stories I want her to have someday, even if someday feels impossibly far off right now.

And honestly, I thought this was a great idea.

First, it takes four or five minutes. That’s it. I can record something meaningful in less time than it takes to wait for the coffee machine to finish brewing.

Second, it’s something that actually benefits someone besides me. Most resolutions are solitary: eat better, exercise more, stretch, sleep, meditate. All good things, but all inward-facing. This one is outward-facing — a small, ongoing gift to the people I care about.

It’s a win-win.

The Teenage Response (Predictable, Brutal, and Somehow Encouraging)

I was quite pleased with myself and I couldn’t wait to tell my 17-year-old daughter about my brilliant idea.

I have so many stories from her childhood — ones she doesn’t remember, can’t remember, or wishes I would stop bringing up. And I have plenty of advice for her future adult self — most of which she definitely does not want to hear at her current age. But I thought she’d at least appreciate the sentiment.

Instead, I got: “What?”

“What?”

Delivered with the unmistakable “I can’t believe you’re my dad” look. (And trust me, it wasn’t the good version of that look.)

I explained the idea, told her that when she’s my age she might value these stories, and made what I felt was a thoughtful, heartfelt case.

Her response: “Whatever.”

“Whatever.”

This was paired with the second unmistakable teenage look: “I can’t believe I’m still part of this conversation.”

But, even that reaction didn’t deter me.

Teenagers are basically allergic to anything that even hints at sentimentality, so I’m counting the fact that she didn’t physically walk out of the room as a win.

And I kept thinking: you know what? The audience for these recordings is not my 17-year-old daughter. It’s the 27-year-old version of her. Or the 37-year-old version. Or the 57-year-old version. These stories are for the version of her who will someday wonder what I was like at her age, what I was thinking about, what mistakes I made, how I learned, what I cared about.

So yes — she rolled her eyes. Yes — she thinks this is ridiculous. But I’m going to do it anyway.

Because the worth of these stories won’t be measured in January. Or even in 2026. It will be measured in the decades ahead, when she’s ready for them.

Why This Resolution Matters (For All of Us)

Every January, most of us set resolutions aimed squarely at improving ourselves: eat better, get stronger, sleep more, stress less. All worthwhile. All valuable.

But somewhere along the way, we stopped making resolutions that strengthen the people we care about.

We focus on our health, our habits, our efficiency — but not often enough on our relationships. And yet, those relationships are the very things that make all the discipline and self-improvement meaningful in the first place.

So this year, I wondered: What if one of my resolutions wasn’t about changing me… but about giving something to the people I love?

What if one of my resolutions wasn’t about changing me… but about giving something to the people I love?

Recording one story a month felt like a simple way to do that. No big production, no elaborate planning — just capturing a memory, a lesson, or a moment I want someone in my family to have someday.

Why Stories Work

Stories are how we pass on the things that matter: our values, our humor, our missteps, our perspective. We often inherit possessions but far fewer memories, simply because no one ever took a few minutes to save them.

A four- or five-minute recording preserves:

You don’t need to be profound. You only need to be yourself. That’s enough.

It’s Actually Easy

Unlike most resolutions, this one requires zero lifestyle overhaul. It’s something you can do:

And you don’t need special tools. I’ll use Self Told because it organizes everything and makes the recordings feel intentional, but a phone memo uploaded to iCloud or Google Drive works just as well. What matters is the act of capturing a story before it disappears.

Where to Begin

If you’re not sure what to talk about, start with something small:

A childhood moment that shaped you
A lesson you wish you’d learned earlier
A story about your parents or grandparents
The first time you felt truly proud, or truly humbled
A memory you hope your kids someday understand

Three to four minutes. One story. Once a month.

A Resolution That Lasts Longer Than January

Most resolutions fade because they demand constant willpower. This one endures because it’s simple, meaningful, and anchored in love — not self-discipline.

And years from now, when the people you care about hear your voice telling a story you would have forgotten, you’ll be grateful you took a few minutes each month to record it. They will too.

Try One Resolution for Someone Else

Make the health resolution. Make the financial one. Maybe even make the “I will finally clean the garage” one.

But also consider making one resolution that benefits the people who matter to you — something small and steady that strengthens your connection to them.

For me, that’s recording a story each month.

It may not earn applause from my teenage daughter today. But one day, she’ll appreciate it. And one day, your loved ones will appreciate yours too.

Four minutes a month. Twelve stories a year. A legacy in your own voice.

That feels like a resolution worth keeping.

Prasantha