New Every Day
Why I’m Done Waiting for January to Fix My Life
There is something funny about the way we treat January first.
We talk about it as if it is a cosmic reset button, a magical doorway, a portal through which we step and suddenly become people who drink more water and fold laundry on the same day it comes out of the dryer. We act like the calendar has the power to transform us, even though the calendar is really just a piece of paper that hangs on the fridge and gets jelly on it by the second week of the year.
I have spent enough years making resolutions to know that the whole thing is a bit of a performance. I have written lists that included things like “wake up earlier” and “stop eating snacks after nine” and “become a person who enjoys running,” and every time I wrote them I felt a little thrill, as if the act of writing them meant I had already changed. Then January second arrived, and I found myself eating pretzels at ten thirty at night while watching a documentary about people who run ultramarathons and thinking that maybe I would start fresh tomorrow.
The truth is that the idea of becoming new once a year is far too much pressure. It is like telling yourself you only get one chance to clean out the junk drawer, and if you miss it, you are stuck with expired batteries and mystery keys forever. Life does not work like that. People do not work like that. We are not annual projects. We are daily ones.
I have started to think that being new every day is a much kinder way to live. It is quieter. It is gentler.
It does not require confetti or a countdown or a gym membership you will forget to cancel.
It simply asks you to wake up, stretch a little, and remember that you are allowed to begin again, even if yesterday was a mess.
Some mornings I wake up feeling like a fresh version of myself. Other mornings I wake up feeling like a leftover version of myself, the kind that has been sitting in the fridge too long and needs a little reheating before it is edible. Both versions are fine. Both versions are human. Both versions get another chance.
Being new every day means you can decide at two in the afternoon that you want to be more patient, even if you spent the morning muttering under your breath at the toaster. It means you can choose to apologize for something without waiting for the perfect moment. It means you can take a walk even if you spent the first half of the day glued to your phone. It means you can start the book you have been meaning to read, or drink a glass of water, or take a deep breath and try again.
It also means you can laugh at yourself a little. You can admit that you are a person who sometimes forgets to switch the laundry, or buys vegetables with noble intentions and then watches them wilt in the crisper drawer.
You can admit that you are learning, always learning, and that learning is not a straight line.
It is more like a spiral, looping back on itself, giving you chance after chance to practice being the person you want to be.
The beauty of being new every day is that it removes the drama. You do not have to reinvent your entire life in one grand gesture. You do not have to become a different person overnight. You can simply take one small step toward the version of yourself that feels true. And if you forget, or fall short, or get distracted by something shiny, you can try again tomorrow. No guilt. No fireworks. Just another sunrise and another chance.
So here is to the daily newness. Here is to the tiny resets and the quiet restarts. Here is to the mornings when you feel ready and the mornings when you do not. Here is to the slow, steady work of becoming yourself, one ordinary day at a time.
And if you still want to celebrate with confetti, I will not stop you. Just maybe wait until after you clean out the junk drawer.
As You Find Me (AYFM) is where Brad Hachez - a visionary neurodivergent creator - explores tech, faith, health, & life. Join the journey to streamline productivity, deepen relationships, & reflect on purpose with resilience, presence, and servant-hearted growth.