Last week, I declared August 31 New Year’s Eve.
There were school supplies involved. Fresh notebooks. New pencils. That strange feeling I’ve never quite lost that September is when one year ends and another begins.
It was a lovely idea.
There was, however, one small problem with declaring September the start of the New Year.
New Year’s comes with resolutions.
Crap.
Because now that September has arrived, I’ve looked at the calendar and realized there are four months left in 2026.
Four.
Where the hell did the summer go?
I’m reasonably certain it was May about three weeks ago. I had a garden to plant, an entire glorious summer stretching ahead of me, and approximately seventeen thousand writing and publishing things I was going to accomplish before fall.
Then I blinked.
Now, it’s September.
And I still have approximately seventeen thousand writing and publishing things to accomplish.
The Other New Year’s Resolution
There’s something slightly ridiculous about the resolutions we make in January.
January Mark is an extraordinarily ambitious fellow. He has twelve whole months ahead of him. Anything is possible. He can write all the books. Fix all the things. Develop all the good habits. Abandon all the bad ones. Organize everything. Exercise regularly. Eat perfectly. Learn new skills. Finally get around to those projects he’s been meaning to do for years.
January Mark: This year I’m going to—
September Mark: Okay, settle down. We’ve got 121 days. What can we actually get done?
And you know what? I think I trust September Mark more. Because January resolutions are based almost entirely on optimism. September resolutions have evidence. By September, you know what kind of year you’re actually having. You know which plans worked and which ones didn’t. You know which habits stuck. You know which projects turned out to be far more complicated than you expected. You know which things seemed desperately important in January but don’t seem terribly important anymore. And you know which plans quietly wandered off into the woods sometime around March and haven’t been seen since.
More importantly, you’ve probably had things happen this year that January You couldn’t possibly have anticipated.
Priorities change. People change. We change.
Which means maybe September isn’t the time to drag out the list of promises we made nine months ago and start feeling guilty about everything we haven’t accomplished.
Maybe it’s time to make a new list.
121 Days
There are 121 days from September 1 to December 31.
That’s actually a lot of time. It’s seventeen weeks. It’s an entire season and then some. It’s long enough to read several books. Write quite a few chapters. Learn the basics of something you’ve always wanted to try. Take a trip. Reconnect with somebody. Finish a project. Start a new one. It’s long enough to change something.
The trick, I think, is not asking the same question we asked in January:
What do I want to accomplish this year?
We’ve already had most of this year.
A better question might be:
When I look back on 2026 on December 31, what would make me happy to say, “Yep. I’m glad I did that”?
That’s a very different kind of resolution.
Maybe back in January you decided you were going to read thirty books this year and you’ve read twelve. Fine. Forget thirty. What are the five books sitting on your shelf that you’ve been meaning to read forever? Read those.
Maybe you were going to get into spectacular physical condition and somehow that hasn’t quite happened. Okay. What if you just started taking a walk every day?
Maybe you were going to learn Italian. You probably aren’t going to be discussing Renaissance art with a waiter in Florence by Christmas, but you could certainly know a hell of a lot more Italian on December 31 than you know today.
Maybe there’s someplace nearby you’ve always meant to visit. Maybe there’s somebody you’ve been meaning to call. Maybe there’s a closet you’ve been meaning to clean out. Maybe there’s something you want to make. Maybe there’s a story you’ve been meaning to write. Maybe there’s something you’ve spent nine months saying you’ll get around to “sometime this year.”
Well…
This year has four months left.
My September Resolutions
I’ve got my own list.
There are books to finish. Books to publish. Stories to write. A publishing company with a rather ambitious schedule. Websites and book listings and assorted other pieces of the publishing machinery that need attention.
There’s The Summer Garden, which has become one of those projects that wandered into my life unexpectedly and somehow became enormously important to me.
There’s my actual garden, which will soon need to be put to bed for the winter.
There are family things and life things and Mark things. And no, I’m not going to list all of them here. For one thing, we’d be here until Thursday. For another, that’s not really the point. I’m not trying to cram twelve months’ worth of ambition into four months. I’m trying to decide which things will make December 31 Mark look back at September 1 Mark and say: Good call.
That’s my resolution for the rest of the year.
Not to do everything.
To do the things that matter.
Your Turn
So how about you?
Forget whatever resolutions you made in January.
Seriously.
You have my permission.
That person didn’t know what the next eight months were going to bring. You do.
Instead, look at the 121 days sitting in front of you.
What would you like to read?
What would you like to make?
Where would you like to go?
Who would you like to spend some time with?
What have you been putting off?
What little thing would make your life better?
What big thing are you finally ready to tackle?
And when December 31 rolls around, what would make you look back and think:
Yep. I’m glad I did that.
Pick one.
Or three.
Or five.
Just don’t pick seventeen thousand.
I’ve already got dibs on that.
And don’t make resolutions for the rest of 2026 because you’re running out of time.
Make them because there’s still time.