Groundhog Day

Well, here we are.
Again.

Another new year with big energy everywhere.
People are filled with big hopes and bigger goals.
Again.

I’m channeling Bill Murray here because this all feels a lot like Groundhog Day.

Stay with me, it’ll make sense.

Many people make resolutions on Jan. 1st to ‘be better’ in some way. As for me, I don’t really do resolutions anymore.

My version, if you can call it that, is locking in.

A few years ago, on a random late-summer morning, I decided that I was done fighting my body and ready to actually work with it. That became my self-imposed weight loss experiment, and over time, I dropped over sixty pounds.

Not once did I “diet” or “go hard”; I just stayed boringly consistent. Over and over and over again.

That part of my self-care feels locked in now.

So this year, I’m using that same energy to lock in on this platform. I’ve created something here I’m genuinely proud of, and want to take it further - more focused and intentional.

Full transparency: if you’re reading this, I wrote it all this morning. Yep, on post day. My holidays were happy, but not exactly peaceful, and my writing time definitely took a hit as a result.

That being said, I promised ya’ll a new piece today, and I keep my promises.

Even if what I end up with is shorter and a little rough around the edges, it’s still from the heart. Because no matter what, I have real goals for this place.

And big goals take time, effort, and again, consistency, even when everything isn’t ‘just’ the way I like it.

I’ve seen a lot of new faces this week, in the gym and at the church. January is definitely January-ing.

In my younger days, I used to be annoyed by that. The crowds, the waiting, someone inevitably violating gym etiquette, or using the one machine you need.

But now, I kind of enjoy it. Still not crazy about the wait times, but these folks inspire me. It takes a ridiculous amount of courage to walk into an unfamiliar place and admit you don’t know what the hell you’re doing yet.

I have a secret goal (well, I guess not secret anymore) to someday work out in the “serious” section of the gym – you know the one, where people lift barbell plates the size of tractor tires and don’t seem to be confused about anything.

They’re probably some of the nicest humans alive, but wow, do they look intimidating AF to me when they’re locked in on their sets.

And this week in church had that same energy too.  New voices were enthusiastically agreeing with the sermon, along with scattered applause and words of praise I hadn’t heard before.

Now, I’m pretty much a sit-and-listen-silently sort of person (my upbringing drilled that into me), so at first it caught me off guard.

But then I thought, “You know what? Heck yeah. I’m glad someone’s loosening the place up."

I’m still not joining in with all that, but that fresh energy rejuvenates the soul. It reminds you why you started this journey in the first place.  

And ‘remember why you started’ is a phrase I have to use on myself constantly, especially when I want to bail on a workout or convince myself that my body will be totally fine with a little extra somethin’-somethin’ to eat that that I already know it can’t handle.

I’m only human, too.

But what happens when that rush of endorphins wears off? When it gets to February, and that initial motivation is…gone?

Yeah, that’s where it gets us, doesn’t it?

A lot of us (myself included) love the idea of being as fit as an Olympian, as beautiful as a model, as rich as Warren Buffett, as spiritual as Billy Graham, as smart as Stephen Hawking, and so on and so on.

But loving the idea of being “successful” (whatever that even means to someone) requires learning to live with the inconvenience it takes to get there.

Because success, in any capacity, is created through unsexy, repetitive, sometimes excruciatingly BORING work.

Getting up early.
Going out in crap weather.
Making better choices while everyone around you does whatever they want.
Dealing with stress by NOT eating your feelings.

Then getting up the next day and doing it all again.

And that’s where I saw the resemblance to Groundhog Day this morning. Same damn alarm, same routine, same basic day, over and over again.

Sometimes you experiment here and there, just like Phil did in Groundhog Day, to learn what works and what doesn’t. (For me, that means Sunday is my stuff-myself-with-bacon-for-breakfast day. You know - balance.)

By learning, improving, and becoming kinder and more well-rounded with each new effort, he changed within the repetition.

As a whole, the day never really changes; you just get better at optimizing it.

It reminds me of the saying: people will be jealous of someone else’s success, but never of how they achieved it.

Which is probably why I don’t do annual resolutions. They feel forced and contrived to me. Sorry, that’s just how it feels for me. If you’re truly ready for change, you don’t need to wait for the calendar.

Most times, you don’t even want to wait.

I’ve never understood the whole eat everything-drink everything-spend everything that I see in December because in January it’s gonna be a “fresh start.”

To me, that usually means you’re trying to force yourself to give up something you’re not actually ready to let go of yet.

When I decided to take better care of myself, I didn’t give myself a week, or even a day, of eating everything I thought I’d “never get to have again.” I didn’t even tell anyone what I was doing.

I just…started. And then I kept going, day after day after day.

People sometimes say things to me like, “Oh, I could never get up at 4 a.m. to work out,” or “I could never live without sugar or alcohol, or “I could never do what you’re doing to yourself” (whatever the hell that means).

You could, if you wanted to. And no judgment if you don’t. We all live by our own barometers of tolerance and success.

The one that really gets me, though, is when people say they’re too old to set a new goal, or that it’ll take too long to get where they want to go.

Look, I’m never gonna look like an Olympian or a model, but at 50, I am currently in the best shape of my life, especially for my age. I want to not only sustain that, but improve it.

That takes work I don’t particularly relish, but the alternative is not even something I’m willing to entertain.

Unfinished Business came together the exact same way.

I didn’t have a master plan. I still don’t. I just…started on a random day in April with zero clue as to what I was doing or whether it would even work. And somehow, by consistently putting in the hours and learning as I went, it’s taken shape in ways I never expected.

None of it has been easy, and most of it I still don’t fully understand. But it’s growing.

I’m still learning as I go. All of this is a work in progress, and moments comes from that work, yes, but also from the support and encouragement I get along the way.

On days like today, when my own motivation is near zero, that matters more than you probably realize. It’s part of what keeps me locked in.

So maybe the question isn’t whether there’s a perfect time to start, or what you will do when your motivation runs out.

If the time is going to keep passing either way, and you’re gonna be hitting that same old alarm button anyway, what would it look like to be better off when it does?

Related Reads:

The Easiest 50 Pounds I Ever Lost
No shots or restrictions, just what actually worked when I focused on consistency.

Ho Phase
What it sometimes takes to keep going when your motivation is shot.

Dirty Work
Doing thankless work that others refused, and what you learn about people when they know exactly why they won't step in.

Heather Papovich is a long-form essayist, cultural writer, and longtime ghostwriter whose work explores lived experience, cultural identities, and the emotional mechanics of everyday life.

She is the founder of Unfinished Business, an independent digital publication blending personal narrative with cultural commentary, currently read in 33 verified countries.

Her writing focuses on reinvention, the emotional weight of ordinary moments, and the role popular culture, particularly long-running franchises, plays in how people cope, connect, and create meaning.