One-word resolutions:

And wearing “that old thing” again

Instead of a list of New Years resolutions, I’ve taken to choosing a single word, like a mantra. Resolutions march me right into that tormented garden of The Ideal Self, where what starts as an aspirational to-do list quickly degrades into a feel-bad list. But a chosen word can work like the simple “N” on a compass, as helpful on the hard days as the good.

This year I’ve picked the word “wintering,” cribbed from the lovely title of an even lovelier book by UK writer Katherine May. May says we are seasonal creatures rather than linear ones. Winter is always coming, and how long new growth needs to lay dormant isn’t always for us to say. I’ve recently felt allergic to groups and booking flights, ornerier than usual, and drawn to sit at home under piles of blanket. I’ve been energetically wintering without knowing I was doing it. So that’s my word for 2026, or at least its start, and I’ll be sharing some of my experiments in “wintering,” hoping some of them may resonate with some of you. ‘Tis the season, after all.

One wintering experiment has taken place on my closet shelves. I don’t go shopping often, but when I do, I usually find at least one thing I like. When I went in search of something new to shine up my holidays, though, nothing felt right. After spiraling through critical thoughts about how I looked in the mirror and worries about losing a certain zest for life, I glanced down at the cable-knit arms of the old sweater I was wearing and realized I liked it far more than anything I’d tried on.

Photo by Zoe on Unsplash

I drove away thinking, What if I tried to wear every sweater in my closet during the last two weeks of December? The idea of rediscovering my wardrobe felt zestier than venturing to another store. As I worked my way across my sweater rack from left to right, I delighted most in the long, heavy one hidden almost out of sight. Probably because it felt like a blanket I could walk in. I pulled out old pants too, delighting again in the skinny jeans no longer in style but surprisingly comfortable. I resurrected necklaces from my grandma that I hadn’t worn in years and noticed how they caught the light.

Gratitude for what we have is simple, not easy. But gratitude doesn’t quite capture my experience with these old things, which felt more scintillating and personal. Like falling back in love with what I already have.

What I’ve learned of wintering so far is that the dread comes in resisting it. Devise a list of things I’m supposed to do and feel, or what I did or felt this same time last year, and I’ve made myself a recipe for suffering. But accept my latent state for what it is, and I might just find a zingy thrill or two, without ever leaving home.