Ah, the seductive lure of a resolution. It’s like projecting a better version of yourself into the future, powered by ambition and a bit of willful forgetting.
History is filled with such grand plans, thwarted by reality. And the evidence is all over brilliant people’s notebooks. After all, notebooks are where resolutions are made and where they are broken.
Unsurprisingly, ambitious people tend to be ambitious with their goals, setting themselves up for failure—or success, depending on your perspective. And my perspective has certainly shifted after observing many successful people fail to meet their resolutions in the pages of their notebooks.
Here’s what I’ve learned: Counterintuitively, making resolutions you can’t possibly keep can be incredibly useful.
I owe this lesson to Samuel Johnson—whose zeal for resolutions was matched only by his inability to meet them. Yet, despite this (or because of it), he was remarkably productive, leaving behind a legacy that has shaped a good deal of literary history. Following Johnson’s lead, I dug through Noted’s archives to find other examples of failed resolutions. Here are a few of my favorites.
I started thinking about resolutions while writing about Johnson for the essay, “5 Ways to Deepen Your Diary Practice in the New Year.” He constantly recorded resolutions in notebooks called “Prayers and Meditations.”
Johnson’s notes got me thinking. By his own account, he failed to meet so many resolutions. On his birthday in 1764, he writes,
I have now spent fifty-five years in resolving; having, from the earliest time almost that I can remember, been forming schemes of a better life. I have done nothing. The need of doing, therefore, is pressing, since the time of doing is short.
And yet, Johnson was remarkably successful. He published the definitive English dictionary for the 18th century, standardizing usage and spelling, and he wrote extremely popular essays.
Clearly, failing to meet his resolutions is only part of the story.
What were these resolutions? They were usually something along the lines of
These resolutions are endearingly modest and essentially human.
I shared the following sweeping list of resolutions last month, which Johnson recorded on his 59th birthday:
SEPT 18. 1760. Resolved D.j.
To combat notions of obligation
To apply to Study.
To reclaim imagination2
To consult the resolves on Tetty’s coffin.
To rise early.
To study Religion.
To go to Church.
To drink less strong liquours.
To keep Journal.
To oppose laziness, by doing what is to be done.
To morrow
Rise as early as I can.
Send for books for Hist. of war.
Put books in order.
Scheme life.
The ritual of making resolutions seemed to anchor Johnson’s life. As his biographer, James Boswell reports, Johnson recommended doubling down on resolutions when straying from moral obligation.
While Johnson’s resolutions had a religious tenor, many others use resolutions as a kind of vision board—a way to project future success.
Sometimes resolutions act as motivation, spurs to action, energized by the hope codified in a resolution.
In 1988, Octavia Butler was still envisioning her success on the back of a notebook. She set ambitious goals for herself: all of her future books would be on all the most important bestseller lists. At the end of her list, Butler writes:
My books will be read by millions of people! So be it! See to it!
While she achieved many of these goals during her lifetime, her books wouldn’t become bestsellers until after her death. But isn’t a posthumous achievement still success?
Butler’s resolutions still worked, even if on a longer timeline than she imagined.
Known for his tomes on American history, while writing The Power Broker, Robert Caro tallied his daily word counts. But some days he records 0 words, and then, in parentheses, he explains that he was “lazy”—a word that no one else would use to describe Caro’s work ethic.
Looking at Caro’s calendar, it is clear that failing to meet one’s goals intermittently isn’t necessarily a problem. Instead, what matters is getting back at it.
At 20 years of age, Franklin penned his first list of resolutions. He lamented that he had lived his life thus far without direction. He corrected this with a “Plan of Conduct” that included a list of “resolutions.” He declared that
henceforth, I may live in all respects like a rational creature.2
Franklin’s resolutions focus on frugality, morality, and industry—three of his lifelong obsessions. They are as follows:
1. It is necessary for me to be extremely frugal for some time, till I have paid what I owe.
2. To endeavour to speak truth in every instance; to give nobody expectations that are not likely to be answered, but aim at sincerity in every word and action—the most amiable excellence in a rational being.
3. To apply myself industriously to whatever business I take in hand, and not divert my mind from my business by any foolish project of growing suddenly rich; for industry and patience are the surest means of plenty.
4. I resolve to speak ill of no man whatever, not even in a matter of truth; but rather by some means excuse the faults I hear charged upon others, and upon proper occasions speak all the good I know of every body.3
Franklin claimed to have followed these rules throughout his life. In reality, he had only mastered Rules 1 and 3. Telling the truth wasn’t his strong suit—but that would come in handy in his diplomatic mission to convince the French to assist with America’s Revolutionary War.
Sylvia Plath, like many of us, struggled to write consistently. She worried over her productivity and used her diary to record goals to spur herself on.
Before Julia Cameron’s Morning Pages, Plath thought of her diary as a place to “warmup” for daily writing:
No skipping after today: a page diary to warmup. All joy for me: love, fame, life work, and, I assume, children, depends on the central need of my nature to be articulate…
But even if Plath missed a day of her writing exercises, it was this ambition that set her up for a meteoric rise. Perhaps the point was not necessarily the daily ritual, but the attempt at one.
I wish I could travel back in time to tell Plath not to be so hard on herself. In fact, I wish I could do the same for all of the resolute figures in this essay. And yet, what I perceive as kindness could turn out to be counterproductive. It seems that ambition requires a certain productive dissatisfaction.
At the very least then, I’d say this: failed resolutions are merely the sign of ambition. Keep failing.
Resolutions are instruments of discovery: You shouldn’t plan on fully meeting your resolutions. Rather, you should use them to point yourself in a particular direction. Resolutions help us explore our values and our limits.
Setting unrealistic resolutions helps us exceed our limits: Sometimes, even if we don’t meet a resolution, the commitment pushes us to achieve more than we otherwise would. Failing to meet a resolution only reveals a limit.
It’s always a good time to make a resolution: There’s no reason to restrict resolutions to January 1st. Every new day, week, month, or season offers a time to imagine a different version of yourself.
With that in mind, it’s not too late to join our Commonplace Book Club (CBC)—we’re on day #5.
Happy New Year,
P.S.
A social-scientist friend pointed out that the examples I’ve included here are a clear case of survivorship-bias. So, to even the score, here is the great Virginia Woolf, deciding to be kind to herself:
[Friday 2 January 1931]
Here are my resolutions for the next 3 months: the next lap of the year.
First, to have none. Not to be tied.
Second, to be free & kindly with myself, not goading it to parties: to sit rather privately reading in the studio.
To make a good job of The Waves
To care nothing for making money…
Thanks to Zoe Diaz-McLeese for posting this quote to the CBC chat over the weekend!