Every January, life smells like fresh starts. Gyms are crowded, fridges are full of vegetables, and shiny notebooks are filled with promises: this is the year I get fit, save money, drink less, scroll less. By February, most of that energy has faded.

We usually explain this as “I don’t have enough willpower.” Psychologists see a tug‑of‑war between ‘Present-Me’ and ‘Future-Me’. Three forces pull on that rope. Identity‑based motivation says we do whatever feels like “the sort of thing people like me do.” Regulatory focus suggests that we’re guided by both who we hope to be and who we feel we should be. Future self‑continuity asks whether the ‘me’ at the end of the year feels like a real extension of me or some stranger with my name.

Identity‑based motivation shows up at the resolution crossroads. It’s cold and dark at 6 a.m. If the only identity awake is “exhausted person who deserves warmth,” of course, you hit snooze. If “I’m becoming the kind of 60‑year‑old who can easily run around with my grandkids” pops into mind, pulling on your trainers feels like acting in character, not doing something extreme. 

In the evening, you promised you’d cook, but now you’re ordering Thai takeaway again! At that moment, you’re “stressed worker who needs comfort”, and not “person who keeps promises to Future‑Me”. Research by Daphna Oyserman and Eric Horowitz found that when people make a concrete future self vivid and link it to small present actions, they’re more likely to persist.

Regulatory focus and future self‑continuity help explain why that future self sometimes has no pull. Research by Tory Higgins and colleagues describes your ideal self (hopes and dreams) and your ought self (duties and “shoulds”). New Year’s resolutions wake both. If the gap between current‑me and those selves feels reachable, you move toward change. If it feels huge  – “I am nowhere near who I want or ought to be” – you’re more likely to shut down and chase quick comfort. Hal Hershfield’s work adds that when next December‑Me feels like basically the same person I am now, saying no to an impulse purchase or yes to a workout feels like basic self‑care. When next December‑Me feels vague and distant, sacrificing for them feels unfair, as if you’re working hard so someone else can enjoy it.

Put this together, and broken resolutions stop looking like a defect in your character. Present-Me tends to win when future‑oriented identities aren’t on your mind, when the gap to your ideal or ought self feels overwhelming, and when Future-Me feels like someone else’s problem. The goal is not to have more willpower, but to tilt these forces so Future-Me has a say in the small decisions that shape your next week, month, and year.

Learn more: How to prime yourself to be more heroic

A simple “Future-Me toolkit” can help.

1. Give Future-Me an ordinary day, not a movie montage. Instead of “this year I’ll get super fit,” picture a random Tuesday next December. You dash up a few flights of stairs without feeling puffed. You cook something simple, eat without feeling stuffed, and fall asleep pleasantly tired, without a drink. The more clearly you can see that day, the more real that person becomes.
2. Let each resolution speak with a dream voice and a duty voice. For “drink less,” the dream might say, “I want to wake up clear‑headed and proud.” The duty might say, “I don’t want to keep snapping at people I love, and I want my doctor to stop looking worried.” For “save more,” the dream is peace of mind; the duty is not leaving Future‑Me to clean up a financial mess. When you can hear both voices, the resolution becomes a concrete way of honouring your own standards instead of a vague “be better.”
3. Shrink each resolution until it’s almost embarrassingly small and tie that tiny action to who you are becoming. “Go to the gym five times a week” can become “I move my body on purpose for 15-20 minutes a day.” That might be the sum of dancing in the kitchen, walking during a phone call, and doing squats while the kettle boils. “Get my finances together” can become “Every Sunday I look at my bank accounts for three minutes and, if I can, move a little into savings.” Small rituals, repeated, are what slowly turn “this is who I’m trying to be” into “this is just what I do and who I am.”

To make this feel less abstract, imagine your future self writing back to you about these plain, unglamorous choices. Picture receiving a letter from yourself on the eve of 2027 along the lines of:

Dear January 2026 Me,

You felt silly sometimes this year. You took short walks, moved small amounts into savings, and put your phone face down at night so you would actually sleep. None of it looked impressive.

From where I am sitting now, it mattered. Those walks mean I can take the stairs easily, without secretly needing a break. The little transfers became a reassuring cushion for surprise bills. The extra sleep made me kinder to other people and to myself.

You could have said “forget it” after the first blown budget, skipped workout, or occasion you felt too tired to pray. Instead, you kept coming back. Thank you for treating me as someone worth looking after. I am enjoying living in the life your small, resolute choices built.

With gratitude and respect,
Your December 2026 Self.

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Finally, when your resolutions feel hard – and they will – listen for the story you tell yourself about that feeling. Standing outside the gym in the dark, your mind may say, “See? I’m not a gym person.” Filling in a budget sheet, it may whisper, “You’re just hopeless with money.” If you believe those stories, difficulty becomes proof that the goal “is not for someone like me.”

If you can instead practice, “This feels hard because it matters for Future‑Me,” the same struggle becomes a sign of importance, not impossibility. With Future-Me in mind, a step off the path doesn’t necessarily derail the journey. One more tip – if you can routinely pause to ask yourself, “What would Future‑Me actually want right now?” and at least sometimes let that guide your choice – you’ve already tilted the game.

Indeed, if Future-You wins a few more decisions this year than last, next New Year’s Eve will likely feel a whole lot better.

Dr Peter Heslin is a Professor of Management at UNSW Business School, Academic Fellow at Warrane College, and Fellow of the UNSW Scientia Education Academy. Craig Brimhall is a Senior Lecturer in the School of Management and Governance at UNSW Business School.