Resolution time, now that we’re free at last

Being British, I’m accustomed to making resolutions in January. My mother made us say them in turn during the meal on New Year’s Day (always a whole salmon, veg and new potatoes at a table set, like a House and Garden photoshoot). Back in Babylonian times, resolutions were promises to the gods; these were promises to ourselves.
I wrote mine in journals before reading them out. There were always around ten. Some were behaviour-based: be nicer to Jonathan (Mum’s boyfriend); others merciless: get rid of Jonathan when he next visits by flushing the keys to his classic Aston Martin down the toilet. Some were doable: Get a part-time job. Learn to drive (listed for a few years). Visit Thailand. Read War and Peace. Break up with energy-leech boyfriend. Many were aspirational: turn shiny, straight hair into dreadlocks, somehow. Save for a one-way ticket to Australia. Learn to fire juggle. Write world-changing books. Meet THE ONE.
I ticked most of them off (not the world-changing books) but a list always exists. I don’t write them in journals now, or call them resolutions, but I like having goals to work towards. But I never make resolutions at Rosh Hashanah, even though January is a daft time for a new year. It’s mid-winter. You feel sluggish. Nothing is new. There’s no sense of transformation in nature, no collective shift of consciousness as a cycle ends. Hail Caesar for giving us that chestnut.
A new year around September makes more sense, when summer ends and the school year begins (being a teacher, I measure my life in academic years).
This Rosh Hashanah, we’re coming out of the shadow of Covid; the world is opening up again and the potential of a new year is exciting. Or it would be if steep inflation, heating anxieties and a climate emergency didn’t hang like apparitions of doom. So how do we stay positive and motivated in 5783?
In his book Religion for Atheists, Alain de Botton suggests non-believers can gain much from the histories and concepts of world religions, then choose the best, most meaningful aspects of them to incorporate into secular life. Likewise, this Rosh Hashanah we might adopt the now secular tradition of making new year’s resolutions, because the types of resolutions we make are worth bearing in mind as we enter a new Jewish year.
Rosh Hashanah is a great time to reconsider our behaviour — just in time for Yom Kippur. Am I being as pleasant, respectful and open-minded to the people in my life, especially the Jonathans, as I could be? (The Jonathans being those I didn’t choose to have in my life but who are in it because they mean a lot to someone else.)
Am I making the most of our being able to gather together again by inviting family and friends over? Am I being a beacon of light and love when I do see them? There’s always room for growth there, surely.
Rosh Hashanah is also a great time to consider what we still hope to accomplish and learn. Some might be doable; some aspirational. If we must tighten our belts, we can get resourceful: learn to sew, set up a side hustle, sell stuff we don’t need. We can read the books we’ve always wanted to read: I read War and Peace in a hammock on a Thai island (tick, tick) but my reading bucket list is long. Libraries will welcome us (and they’re warm).
Travel doesn’t need to be a one-way ticket to Australia, although that was fun: smaller steps are good, too. I’d been to New Zealand but I’d never been to the Lake District before August. I barely know what’s on offer in the town where I live, so that’s something to remedy. My new book, Time Travel at Puddle Lane (about time travelling Jewish kids) came out recently, and after researching it, I have a new-found love of history, so this year, I want to visit some historic sites — maybe even join English Heritage or the National Trust.
We’ve missed out on so much in the last few years, but we can make a resolution this Rosh Hashanah to make up for that, start afresh and atone for past failings.
Jonathan married someone else and lives in NYC now. It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t flush his car keys but I could have been a bit nicer to him when I was 15. In the spirit of my resolutions, I might WhatsApp him with a shana tova. Wishing you all a happy new year, too.