New Coastie – Lost and found, abandoned resolutions

As I stumble gracefully (or just stumble) toward the end of 2025, it’s time for that sacred annual ritual: reviewing the promises I made to myself back in January when hope was high, motivation was abundant, and I genuinely believed I could lasso the moon. Let’s open the Lost and Found Box of Resolutions, shall we?

First, the classic: “This year I’m getting fit.” For approximately nine days, I was unstoppable. I bought gym clothes, downloaded fitness apps, and watched thousands of motivational TikTok videos. And then it all faded away. The gym hasn’t seen me since February, but I don’t feel bad about it. My membership fee is a charitable contribution to the Stanmore Bay Leisure Centre, helping to keep the lights on for people who use it.

This year, I was supposed to turn my home into a minimalist tidy Marie Kondo dream. I sorted one drawer. I found a missing sock, three old chargers, and a souvenir pen from 2021. Then I got overwhelmed, took a break, and am still on that break. 

I printed spreadsheets. I downloaded budgeting apps. Then January’s Auckland Anniversary sales hit, and suddenly my carefully planned strategy was replaced with: “Well, it was 30 per cent off.”

The resolution to eat healthy is currently lying limp in the Lost and Found, clutching a melted ice cream wrapper and sobbing softly. I tried. I really did. Virtually impossible with a 2-year-old toddler. The whole year was spent eating half-eaten sandwiches and all the other scraps left behind. 

I vowed to embrace peace. To relax. To practise mindfulness. Then the year actually happened. Enough said.

As I look back on 2025, maybe the only resolution that truly mattered wasn’t the gym routine I abandoned, the budget I ignored, or the colour-coded planner I never used. Maybe the real measure of this year isn’t in the goals I didn’t achieve, but in the moments I lived, the ones I never thought to put on a list.

Because this was the year I played with my daughter in the park almost every day. This was the year I watched her wobble through her first steps and go from single words to full sentences like she’d simply decided she was done being a baby. It was the year I heard her say the f-word for the first time, a moment equal parts horrifying and hilarious. And through all of this, I was there with my wife. Me, imperfect, tired, overstretched, but present dad. My wife and I somehow kept a tiny human fed, loved, growing, laughing, and learning. We didn’t just survive the year; we helped shape it for her. So maybe I shouldn’t be so hard on myself. The gym and the clutter can wait. Maybe this really was the Year of the Daughter. And if the only thing I truly achieved in 2025 was being a good dad, then honestly? That’s more than enough. We all should be kind to ourselves. Let’s not KPI ourselves to anxiety. Resolutions come and go but we are still here. We all did good this year.