Present
New Year’s resolutions are often treated lightly—earnest on January 1, forgotten by February. Yet the act of resolving to do better has deep historical roots, and in New Hampshire, where practicality, independence, and community have always mattered, resolutions have long taken a distinctive shape.
A Brief History of Resolutions
The idea of making promises at the turn of the year is ancient. Babylonians made pledges to their gods to repay debts and return borrowed tools. Romans dedicated January to Janus, the two-faced god of endings and beginnings, resolving to act honorably in the year ahead.
Possibly the oldest surviving written New Year resolution was found in Anne Halkett’s 1671 diary. She was a Scottish writer who penned,”I will not offend any more” beneath a ‘resolutions’ heading on January 2nd.
In early New England, including colonial New Hampshire, resolutions were rarely casual. Puritan diaries from the 17th and 18th centuries show individuals recording solemn commitments: to work diligently, to govern one’s temper, to live modestly, and to serve God and neighbor. These were not public declarations but private moral contracts, revisited repeatedly throughout the year.
Jonathan Edwards, though better known in Massachusetts, influenced the entire region with his famous list of resolutions—carefully worded, realistic, and regularly reviewed. They focused less on self-improvement as we know it today and more on character, discipline, and responsibility.
Presidential Resolutions and Public Promises
American presidents, too, have made resolutions—some personal, others implicit in their leadership that directly impacted New Hampshire citizens, past and present.
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George Washington resolved to set aside power voluntarily, establishing the peaceful transfer of authority.
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Abraham Lincoln, amid national catastrophe, resolved to preserve the Union while moving the nation toward the abolition of slavery.
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Theodore Roosevelt embraced resolutions of personal vigor—physical fitness, conservation, and civic responsibility.
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Jimmy Carter spoke openly about personal honesty, frugality, and service, values aligned with New England sensibilities.
These were not January gym memberships; they were long-term commitments shaped by circumstance, humility, and an understanding of limits.
Why Resolutions Fail
Modern resolutions often fail for predictable reasons:
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They are too grand. “Completely change my life” is not a plan.
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They are rooted in guilt, not purpose. Shame rarely sustains effort.
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They ignore human nature. We underestimate fatigue, stress, and habit.
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They focus inward only. Self-absorbed goals lose meaning quickly.
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They lack structure. Good intentions without daily practice fade fast.
New Hampshire’s history suggests another approach: smaller promises, steady effort, and a sense of responsibility beyond oneself.
Practical, Altruistic Resolutions for Granite Staters
New Hampshire residents have always valued self-reliance—but also neighborliness. The most enduring resolutions often blend the two. New Hampshire newspapers of the past mention simple acts of resolution: keeping one’s front walk clear in winter, sharing extra garden vegetables with neighbors, making newcomers to their church or social group welcome.
Here are a few simple, practical, and altruistic resolutions well suited to the Granite State:
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Check on one person weekly. A neighbor, an elderly relative, a friend living alone—consistency matters more than scale.
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Spend locally, intentionally. Support a local farm, hardware store, or small business once a month.
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Volunteer a little, regularly. One afternoon per season at a food pantry, library, historical society, or town cleanup.
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Use fewer words, listen more. In meetings, town halls, and family gatherings, resolve to understand before responding.
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Care for the land. Pick up roadside litter, respect trails, conserve energy—quiet stewardship has long defined New Hampshire.
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Write something down. Keep a short journal of gratitude, weather observations, or family stories—future generations will thank you.
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Be patient in public spaces. In traffic, at the post office, in line at the market—small courtesies ripple outward.
When Resolve Meets Human Frailty
New Hampshire history also reminds us that resolve does not mean rigidity. Farmers delayed planting when weather turned, soldiers rested when wounded, and families set plans aside during illness or loss. In the same way, a resolution may sometimes need to be put on hold—not abandoned, but paused. Human frailty, grief, age, or unexpected responsibility can make even the best intentions temporarily unreachable. There is no failure in recognizing a season for rest or recovery. What matters is remembering that a resolution can be taken up again when strength returns and circumstances allow. In a state shaped by long winters and patient endurance, we have always understood that progress is not a straight line, but a path we rejoin when the time is right.
A New Hampshire Way Forward
New Year’s resolutions need not be flashy to be meaningful. In New Hampshire, the strongest resolutions have always been modest, durable, and rooted in care—for one’s work, one’s word, one’s neighbors, and one’s place.
Perhaps the best resolution of all is this:
Do one small good thing, steadily, and keep at it long after January has passed.
That, after all, is the Granite State way.
