Thinking of abandoning your New Year resolutions? I’m nailing mine!

How are your resolutions going on this, the precise day (unscientifically speaking) when everyone gives in to the general bleh of the season? Perhaps you didn’t make any. The balance has been shifting for a while, but it feels like this year, anti-resolution messaging is stronger than pro. With everything being demonstrably terrible and every sign it will get worse, why bother? As TikToker @erin.monroe put it: “I don’t need 2023 to be my year, I need it to not be a soul-sucking drag through earthly purgatory.” To which, amen (and also good luck).

Celebrity endorsements of not bothering are widely available. “I’ve been dogged by a feeling, as real as any of the parts of myself I ‘should’ be remodelling: I’m so fucking sick of trying,” Lena Dunham posted on Instagram. Happy Valley actor Siobhan Finneran dispatched a question about whether she was making resolutions, protesting that January was hard enough, especially with the self-employed tax deadline looming (I feel you, Siobhan). “Denying yourself a drink or some chocolate is just too much,” she said. “Enjoying finishing off the Christmas leftovers.”

I realise I ended last year urging everyone to become neo-nihilists and not bother with anything and I’m starting this year doing the same; it’s become something of a personal brand. But if you can’t get on board with your animal self just doing what it loves, there are alternatives. How about radically downgrading your self-improvement goals? The New York Times says that’s OK, in its exploration of the low-key hashtag #dontsuck2023. I tried “low-res” last year. Mine was to buy a box of chocolates and eat one every day in January. (Smashed it!) This year, similarly devoid of meaningful aspirations, I resolved to bring all the clothes I need to get dressed into the bathroom in the morning, saving myself the freezing trudge along the landing to find knickers. Days 1 to 3 went well, but I forgot my trousers on day 4 and lost heart.

So I’ve changed tack and I commend my new strategy to you: the one-off resolution. Why commit to doing something all year when you could just do it once, neatly avoiding the impulse to fail then give up? Rationally, we know that all of us being imperfectly better – recycling more, eating less meat – does more good than a handful committing to absolute purity, but our all-or-nothing mindset means Veganuary is cancelled after a bite of buttered toast.

If you resolve to do something only once, it’s harder to fail. Taking into consideration my general lethargy – I even brush my teeth sitting down – I have set myself three eminently achievable goals. The first was to clean my computer keyboard. I did it yesterday, and if starting the year absolutely disgusted with yourself floats your boat, it’s a winner. There’s a healing shame to confronting your filth – yours and no one else’s – that is very January sackcloth and ashes. (Were those actual ashes on my keyboard? No, too sticky.) I Googled how to clean it, disregarding pages of “Don’t let it get dirty in the first place” advice (sure, nerds), then ended up scrubbing it with soapy water, an old toothbrush and a tampon because I didn’t have any of the recommended cotton buds or screen wipes. Still, it’s decontaminated, still working (just) and I feel incredible: chastened, purged and with no intention of keeping it clean in future.

Resolution No 2 is finding out where to recycle my sons’ disposable contact lens cases, which have been piling up for three years and are now a significant trip hazard. The last one is to order a sandwich other than the one called Alan in my local sandwich bar. Alan is an absolute wrong ’un – a deranged combo of mushrooms, olives, sun-blushed tomatoes, red onion and mustard I only ordered because of the name. But now, paralysed by choice, I find myself ordering then unhappily eating Alan, repeatedly. This year it stops. And by “stops”, I mean, I’ll try to order a different sandwich once before 31 December. My personal hashtag for the year? #dontsuckoncein2023.

• Emma Beddington is a Guardian columnist