“Making resolutions is a cleansing ritual of self-assessment and repentance that demands personal honesty and, ultimately, reinforces humility.” — Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy made the statement that making resolutions is cleansing ritual, but it’s also a series of promises and tasks that are difficult to achieve (because they’re so lofty). As cleansing agents, they’re good in the moment but not in the long run. They have their purpose when the year begins, but for real change, I prefer “intentions.”
My intentions were to play piano and create art in 2025. My beautiful piano made of cherry wood and emblazoned with a scripted “Wurlitzer” above the keyboard is silent. The piano sits next to my late mother’s armchair, and it was Mom who encouraged me to play the piano; I’m always reminded that it was my thirtieth birthday gift to myself. What a joy it was that those twelve years when I was piano-less did not wipe out my ability to play! Decades later, I cannot expect to play a Chopin nocturne or Beethoven sonata as expertly as I did when I was 18, but I can still play, slowly. I still intend to play, but it cannot be a task. It needs to be a deep desire and part of the fabric of my being.
I’m reminded how, when our youngest daughter was dividing up her time into pie slices, she wanted to read for three hours a day. Even though I warned her she was too ambitious, she still wanted three hours a day of reading, and so we filled in the time pie. Days after, I asked what she’d been reading, and she said she hadn’t been. I asked, “But what about your plan to read for three hours a day?” “Oh,” she said, “I thought that was just a wish.”
A resolution is wishy. But an intention focuses on the journey and the process of personal growth. It’s not a linear development and is far more than a list of what one wants to do in the future. It’s a deliberate intent to think differently. The idea of insufficient time may need to be re-examined. Time must be made for things that are important. Can I ask if playing the piano is important to me?
As for art — I took drawing and painting classes at BAYArts again this year, continuing the tradition begun when I participated in “drawing in the galleries” classes at the Cleveland Museum of Art. When I’m in the studio with other artists for 150 minutes, with paintbrush in hand, the art flows. We talk, we stand back and look at what we have created, we establish eye-hand coordination to capture the still life or model before our eyes. It’s play. It is not so much about the brain but the body partnering with the brain. Like how a day of being present, “being” rather than “doing,” provides a sense of abundance and adventure. And it’s not scary.
The words “I make my best mistakes when I’m doing art” are on the cover of the journal I gifted to one of my artist friends on New Year’s Eve. Remembering how to draw comes to me when I let the mind empty itself of perfectionism and just do it. Mistakes don’t matter; the journey brings meaning, and sometimes leads to incredible art. Nothing can destroy art more than thinking too much about it. I hope my friend is surprised by how great her mistakes are this year.
My piano begs to be played. The paint brushes and oil paintings in my studio are ready for attention. My eyes rove over the objects, and they are reminders. I betrayed the piano and did not paint at home much. Guilt sometimes washes over me
We know that’s not good. Guilt does not breed motivation.
Back to Thomas Hardy, a creative writer and a Victorian realist, whose quote I chose for this reflection. He wrote that resolutions are part of a “cleansing ritual of self-assessment and repentance,” very much a Victorian state of mind during the Chautauqua movement of adult education and social justice with roots laid by a Methodist Episcopal pastor. Perhaps Hardy was thinking about the non-judgmental love of self and letting go of past ills so one can move forward. His acknowledgment that it “reinforces humility” is significant because only if we let go of our egos can we be free to create. Self-judgment is an egotistical sport.
An old friend just posted on Facebook, “Quilting for me started off as physical therapy, and look at where it’s taking me . . . when you relax and trust the process miracles happen.” She has designed and created beautiful quilts. The experience not only yielded art and helped with her transformation but inspired the beginning of a new series on her website called “The Light of Recovery.” She relaxed and trusted the process. That was major for her.
The universe, or God, gives us epiphanies when we notice them. My piano and my art remind me of my intentions. I have memories of how it felt to create art in a classroom and play classical music after dinner when I still lived at home. The journal I gave my artist friend seemed like the best gift ever, for her — it popped out during a spree at a gallery. The discussion with my daughter took place a couple of days ago. And Sue’s Facebook post? It came into my feed just moments ago. All these things came to me in the span of time since New Year’s Eve.
Look at how it all entwined in this reflective essay. I was open and noticed.
There you have it, the steps to transformation (because that’s what New Year’s resolutions are meant to be). It begins with a desire to create a better life, an intention to make it happen, and the expectation of enjoying the experience. Time set aside to “practice” in a non-judgmental way while relaxing and trusting the process can create great experiences, and sometimes great art. An attitude of acceptance and abundance leads to a transformed life.
Life can be a living work of art. Make your life a work of art in 2026. Me? I’m still working on last year’s intentions by letting go of guilt and perfectionism and just doing it!
Claudia J. Taller is a writer, yoga teacher, mindfulness leader, avid reader, nature lover, and sometimes an artist and musician. Her books include 30 Perfect Days, Finding Abundance in Ordinary Life. This reflective piece is the first one in her upcoming book All the Fleeting Days, Deconstructing and Re-Imagining a Life.