Things I Tell My Wife, by Matt Knutson

“So we both failed at our New Year’s resolutions,” I told my wife. I had to double check that she had indeed failed, but I had assumed she was as successful as I had been.

Months ago I wrote about my resolution to take a photo every day this year and upload it using an app on my phone. I even committed to buying the app to get a daily reminder, thinking it would be my insurance policy to make sure I was following through with the resolution.

It failed. Or rather, I failed.

The alarm still goes off every day at 7:30 p.m. to remind me to post a photo, and that place deep in my soul promptly fills with guilt. I’m not sure why I don’t disable the alarm at this point. The resolution is far from a success now, and I doubt I’ll make any strides if I were to attempt to recommit.

I’m not sure if I should take comfort in knowing that I’m not the only one who has already failed at a New Year’s resolution. Ideally we’d all be successful at making a change and accomplishing goals, but sometimes it’s good and healthy to admit when we’ve failed. Perhaps I never should have ended that column with the line, “Growth can certainly occur in failure.”

I began failing my resolution in the middle of February. Life began getting unexpectedly busy when a potential new job arose, and between traveling and searching for a place to live, other things fell to the wayside. Life happens and prioritizing is a part of being an adult.

Does it take long to snap a picture and upload it? Nope. But I didn’t just want to take a photo of the first thing I saw at 7:30 p.m., I wanted a photo that summarized the entire day. My mind was taking my simple goal and transitioning it into a grand art project.

When we fail, there’s normally a few different options for someone to choose from. These include moving on from the goal without achieving success, re-evaluating the goal to reach something more attainable or keeping the goal the same and working harder at reaching it.

For this resolution, I’m leaning toward moving on, but a part of me still feels like I should start anew in April to document this new season in my life. Maybe by removing the reminder alarm I’ll actually feel more compelled to take a daily photograph.

Growing from this failure could mean a few different things for me.

First, it means I didn’t accurately set a resolution that I’d be passionate about for an entire year. I find it a bit comical that the same year I committed spending the rest of my life to my wife, I couldn’t successfully commit to taking a photo a day for more than two months. Perhaps resolutions work best when they’re more serious.

Second, it means I can’t force myself to do something just because it seems fun. My resolutions clearly need to be truly impactful in a noticeable way. A daily photo just didn’t do it for me, but I suspect if I had completed several months worth of photos, I’d feel quite accomplished. Seeing the bigger picture is probably necessary for a successful resolution for many.

Was it even worthwhile for me to set a resolution for a full year when I failed in the first two months? I’m still not entirely sure. I know I am thankful I took the opportunity to evaluate what I could do in my life that would make me better at something while providing some form of enjoyment.

I think we need opportunities like New Year’s resolutions and other times for reflection built into our schedules more often. A year is a long time for someone like myself, who still somehow struggles with remembering to floss daily. Maybe there’s an application for my phone out there that will remind me to do that.

What’s next for the Knutson household’s resolutions? I think Sera and I will try a joint resolution that takes place within a shorter time frame than a year. A monthly resolution with my spouse will provide accountability and give us something to work toward together. As two became one, so shall our resolution. If only now we could resolve to make one.

 

Matt Knutson is the communications and events director for United Way of Olmsted County.