In an election year, especially, this matters. Democracies do not just rise or fall on the quality of their leaders, but on the behaviour of their citizens. We can disagree robustly without dehumanising one another. We can demand better without tearing people down. We can argue policy without destroying trust.
If we want thoughtful leadership, long-term thinking and brave decisions, we need to create an environment where those things are possible. That means choosing optimism over cynicism, substance over slogans and respect over outrage.
Here are five New Year’s resolutions worth making, not just in our homes, but as a country.
Optimism is not about pretending problems do not exist. It is about believing they can be solved.
New Zealand has real challenges. Naming them matters. But we have also become very good at talking ourselves down, as if acknowledging progress somehow weakens the case for improvement. In reality, progress depends on knowing what to protect as much as what to fix.
Education is a good example.
From the perspective of a parent, what stands out is the quiet progress happening day to day. Visiting my own children’s classrooms, I see teachers adapting, innovating and stretching students in ways many of us did not experience at the same age.
There is a renewed focus on fundamentals, with structured literacy and dedicated time each day for maths, reading and writing providing clarity and consistency. Far from narrowing learning, this grounding in basics appears to be giving children confidence, my own included. When foundational skills are secure, children are more articulate, more curious and more willing to ask questions.
What is also clear is that this back-to-basics approach is sitting alongside a strong understanding of wellbeing. Learning is not treated as separate from how children feel, and classrooms reflect the reality that students do best when both are taken seriously.
This does not mean the system is perfect. Teachers are under pressure, and inequity remains real. But what I see in my own children’s classrooms suggests that clarity of expectations, strong foundations and thoughtful teaching are moving learning in the right direction.
The same quiet competence exists elsewhere too. In healthcare, where clinicians continue to deliver extraordinary care under strain. In communities, where volunteers keep schools, sports clubs and local organisations running. In small businesses, adapting through uncertainty.
Optimism is not arrogance. It is fuel. A New Year’s resolution worth making is to notice and name what is working, so we have the confidence to build on it.
Optimism, however, only matters if it is paired with courage.
If we are serious about building a sustainable future, we need to confront the decisions we keep postponing because they are uncomfortable or complex.
Too often, our long-term future is treated like a political football. Issues that will shape the lives of our children and grandchildren are kicked back and forth between election cycles, reframed every three years and reduced to slogans rather than addressed with seriousness and continuity.
This short-termism comes at a cost. It rewards delay over delivery and safety over leadership.
We are living longer, healthier lives, yet we continue to treat some retirement settings designed for a very different demographic reality as largely untouchable. Gradually raising the retirement age is not an attack on older New Zealanders. It is an acknowledgement of longevity and a commitment to intergenerational fairness. Avoiding the conversation simply shifts the burden onto younger generations.
At the same time, there are signs of progress. The evolution of KiwiSaver, with higher default contribution rates and a clearer expectation of personal saving alongside public provision, reflects a growing recognition that retirement settings need to adapt. Building on this momentum requires us to be willing to have honest conversations about how different parts of the system work together over time.
If we want a retirement framework that remains fair and sustainable, the starting point is not fear or defensiveness, but realism and shared responsibility across generations.
The same challenge applies to our political cycle. Three-year election terms encourage constant campaigning and short-term thinking, and it is unrealistic to expect meaningful, system-level change to be designed, implemented and embedded within that timeframe.
Anyone who has stepped into a senior leadership role recognises this pattern. The first year is spent getting your feet under the table and understanding how the system actually works. The second year is where progress begins to take shape, early decisions are tested, some succeed, some do not, and clarity emerges about what is working and what is not. By the third year, attention inevitably shifts back to campaigning and positioning.
This is not a criticism, it is a reality of complex systems and human organisations. Expecting transformational change in three years sets everyone up to fail.
Extending election terms, with appropriate accountability, would give Governments the space to focus on delivery and implementation rather than perpetual positioning, and would create a more honest alignment between political timelines and the pace at which real progress is made.
We see similar patterns in long-term infrastructure, housing, healthcare and climate adaptation. Projects are paused, reshaped or abandoned with each change of government, increasing cost and reducing confidence. The brave choice here is not just spending more money, but building cross-party agreement so essential decisions survive electoral cycles.
These are not left or right issues. They are time-horizon issues.
A New Year’s resolution worth making is to trust ourselves with grown-up conversations about long-term trade-offs, and to stop mistaking political comfort for wisdom.
Over the past year, this has become a familiar scene. Whether on the sidelines of children’s sports or in restaurants over the summer break, the pattern is the same. Parents scrolling. Siblings hunched over phones or smart watches. Screens filling every quiet moment.
Somewhere along the way, boredom became something we felt obliged to eliminate. A gap to be filled. A discomfort to be avoided. Screens became the default response.
But boredom is not a problem. It is where imagination, patience and self-regulation are built.
Sitting through your sibling’s game teaches you that not everything is about you. Waiting for food teaches conversation. Unstructured time teaches children how to manage themselves rather than being constantly managed.
When we remove boredom, we remove those lessons.
This is showing up everywhere. At restaurants, where screens appear before menus. In waiting rooms, where silence feels uncomfortable. In schools, where devices blur the boundary between learning tools and constant distraction.
And this is not just a children’s issue.
Adults have outsourced boredom too. We scroll while waiting for coffee. We check emails at dinner. We film events instead of watching them. We are present in body, absent in mind.
This is where collective agreement matters more than individual guilt.
As we look to 2026, introducing a minimum age for social media feels like a sensible and protective next step. We already accept age limits for driving, alcohol and voting because we understand that developmental readiness matters. Digital platforms shape attention, behaviour and mental health in powerful ways, particularly during formative years. Setting clear boundaries is not anti-technology. It is pro-childhood.
The same applies to schools. Smart watches have no place in classrooms. They fragment attention and undermine learning. Banning them is not punitive; it is protective.
More broadly, we need a shared national approach to screens in education. Clear expectations about when technology genuinely enhances learning and when it detracts from it, so families are not left navigating this alone.
Alongside this, we need far better education around healthy screen use, for both children and adults. Understanding attention, habit formation and digital wellbeing should be treated as a core life skill, not something families are expected to work out by trial and error.
A New Year’s resolution worth making is to design our digital environments as deliberately as we design our physical ones, with wellbeing in mind.
When faced with complex problems, our instinctive response is often to spend more money.
Sometimes additional funding is essential. But money is not a substitute for thinking.
Too often, spending becomes a way to avoid harder questions. Systems grow heavier rather than better. Complexity increases. Accountability blurs. The people working within those systems feel more constrained, not more supported.
A smarter approach starts elsewhere.
What should we stop doing? What no longer works? What could be simplified?
We should prize redesign over expansion. Technology should remove friction, not add it. Data should inform decisions, not simply exist for reporting. Services should be built around how people actually live, not how organisations are structured.
Doing things smarter is not about cutting corners. It is about being disciplined about outcomes and brave enough to let go of legacy approaches.
Community is not something we consume. It is something we actively create.
Today, community exists just as much online as it does offline, and the way we behave in both spaces matters.
We have become far too tolerant of conduct online that we would never accept face-to-face. Rumours spread without verification. Misinformation travels faster than correction. Trolls dominate conversations because they are loud, not because they represent the majority.
Silence is not neutral. It is a form of participation.
This matters even more when many young people now treat platforms like TikTok as a primary source of news. Algorithms reward outrage and certainty, not nuance or accuracy. If we abdicate responsibility for the information environment our children are growing up in, we should not be surprised by the consequences.
Growing up as a nation means recognising that freedom of expression comes with responsibility. It means questioning before sharing. Calling out misinformation. Refusing to reward negativity with attention.
Offline, community is still built in ordinary moments. Talking to neighbours. Staying for the game. Volunteering. Checking in on others.
Strong countries are built by citizens who take responsibility for the tone, truth and health of the spaces they inhabit.
Taken together, these five resolutions are not radical. They are grown-up.
They ask us to be more optimistic, more deliberate and more responsible, in how we raise children, design systems, engage online and treat one another.
They are not resolutions that disappear by February. They show up quietly in everyday choices, in what we tolerate, what we share and what we push back on.
And if enough of us make them, they will not just improve our own lives.
They will improve the country we are handing on.
That feels like a New Year’s resolution worth keeping.
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