Customers read and purchase books at a bookstore, as part of their New Year's resolutions in Huai'an, East China's Jiangsu Province, on January 3, 2026. Photo: VCG

"New Year, new you." When the New Year rolls around, people across the globe naturally turn their thoughts to making New Year's resolutions. In China, the ritualistic slogan "Reboot your life in a year" has gone viral on social platforms such as Xiaohongshu, better known as the RedNote app, capturing the universal desire for self-improvement as the year turns. 

Making New Year's resolutions is a modern global custom, but let's be honest: We've all been there. Data shows that nearly 80 percent of those lofty goals fizzle out by the end of the year, gathering dust on to-do lists. From weight loss to saving more, grand promises too often become "paper plans."

On Chinese social media, some vloggers suggest dividing the 365 days into 36 ten-day periods to break down big plans into smaller, more manageable tasks. However, many netizens complain that they still fail to fulfill their plans by year's end.

Lurking beneath these inspirational posts is a universal, nagging truth: Whether you make your vows on January 1 or after the Spring Festival, or the Chinese New Year, the fate of most resolutions is grim.

Why do our best-intentioned plans, born in a glow of optimism, so often fizzle out with the winter chill? And how can we make them stick?

The answer, according to experts, may lie in a unique blend of cultural psychology and a fundamental misunderstanding of how humans actually change.

Following lunar calendar

While the West turns the page on December 31, for many in China the true psychological "New Year" begins with the Spring Festival. 

Yu Jinlong, a Beijing-based cultural scholar, told the Global Times on Wednesday that while Chinese New Year wishes share a similar form with Western resolutions, their core is deeply rooted in distinct cultural contexts. "The Chinese phrase ci jiu ying xin [bid farewell to the old year and usher in a new year] is, in fact, a psychological transition. Many Chinese people naturally enter a state of 'annual review' and 'new beginning' around Spring Festival," he said.

Yu explained that Chinese resolutions often align with traditional philosophy and self-cultivation ideals. For example, health goals may follow traditional Chinese medicine's wisdom of "adapting to the four seasons," focusing on nourishment in winter and increasing exercise in spring to follow nature's vitality. 

Others draw on Confucian ideas of "gradual progress" and "reflecting on oneself three times a day," breaking big goals into small, sustainable steps and emphasizing regular reflection.

"Plans integrated with natural rhythms and traditional self-cultivation practices are more systematic and easier to weave into daily life," Yu added. 

The contrast with Western approaches is striking. Benny, a man from New Zealand, told the Global Times that people often start by dreaming about what they want, and therefore the focus quickly becomes the goal, rather than the plan or strategy.

Mo Nan, a Beijing-based psychological practitioner, recalled her study experience in Germany. 

"Western societies tend to have rigid, step-by-step plan execution. For example, people meet at 3:10 sharp and stick to one-hour slots. But Chinese culture values flexibility and stress resistance," she said.

2026 Illustration: VCG

Making plans survive real life

Creating New Year's resolutions shares a core truth with seeking therapy: Both are journeys of change that most people underestimate. According to psychological practitioner Mo Nan, the high failure rate stems from underestimating the complexity of change, ignoring physical and mental rhythms, and excessive desire for control.

A common trap is what Mo calls the "New Year's revolution" mindset, the unrealistic belief that a single annual wish can bring fundamental transformation. She observes a parallel in extreme cases such as eating disorders, where rigid, perfectionistic goals often lead to a cycle of strict control followed by total collapse. 

"When a plan breaks without built-in flexibility, people may feel they've entered a 'lawless zone,' leading to loss of control and self-abandonment," she explains, adding that this "all-or-nothing" thinking is a major reason that resolutions falter.

Fellow therapist Wang Ying identifies several key psychological missteps. Many resolutions are born of external pressure, such as mimicking friends or social media trends, rather than genuine internal desire, causing motivation to fade quickly. Others are overly rigid and results-obsessed, relying on the flawed belief that our "future self" will have infinite willpower. This sets us up for failure when real-life stress hits. 

Wang also highlights the distinct "post-Spring Festival crash" in China, where the abrupt transition from relaxed holiday mode to high-pressure work mode depletes the energy needed to pursue new goals.

So how can we build more resilient intentions? 

First, embrace flexibility. Accept that plans will be interrupted. The goal is not perfect adherence, but the ability to restart gently, without guilt. 

Second, find your true "why." Dig deeper than the goal itself and ask what feeling of dissatisfaction or lack of control is driving it. Often, adjusting your daily priorities or boundaries is more effective than any rigid plan. 

Third, start with a small step. If a big goal feels daunting, commit to one tiny, unmissable daily action. The key is to then actively celebrate that small win, positive reinforcement builds habits far more effectively than punishment.

Ultimately, sustainable change is a fluctuating, spiral journey. It requires shifting focus away from rigid, punitive outcomes toward cultivating a kinder, more curious relationship with oneself. As Wang advises, when you stumble, ask, "What can I learn from this?" rather than "Why did I fail?" The most meaningful resolution may not be a checklist, but the intention to treat yourself as a complex, evolving, and being worthy of patience.