What We Tell Children at the Start of a New Year

Why I don’t set New Year’s resolutions

For as long as I can remember, I haven’t really set New Year’s resolutions.

Not because I don’t care about learning or growth, but because the ritual has always felt slightly off to me. The idea that a new year should begin with a list of things I need to do better has never sat comfortably. Somewhere along the way, resolutions stopped feeling hopeful and started feeling like quiet pressure.

That unease sharpened the day my six-year-old asked me, “What are New Year’s resolutions?” I began explaining, almost on autopilot, when she followed up with something far more unsettling: “Why do we need to make them?”

Not how to make one. Not what hers should be. Just… why.

That question stayed with me.

As adults, we rarely pause to examine the rituals we inherit. New Year’s resolutions are framed as virtuous, a chance to improve, to reset, to do better. But explaining that idea to a child exposes its weight. What does it mean to tell children that a new year requires change? And what are they meant to infer if they already feel they’re falling short?

That quiet discomfort became the starting point for Kopi Cat and the New Year’s Resolution.

Writing with children, not just for them

As I began writing, my ten-year-old became my most honest reader. She went through the early drafts with careful, sometimes brutal honesty — questioning not just the words, but the illustrations too. “This doesn’t match the story.”“Why does Kopi Cat look sad here?”

It was a reminder that children read with their whole selves. Visuals aren’t decoration; they shape how a story is felt and understood. Compared with my last book, I was far more attentive this time — less willing to let illustrations simply accompany the text, and more determined that they carry meaning of their own.

That shift mattered. Looking back now, we’ve come a long way, and this story feels truer because of it.

Making space for pause, not pressure

What I wanted, more than anything, was to tell children a different kind of story. One that doesn’t rush them towards improvement or measure their worth by progress. A story that gently says it’s okay to pause. That it’s okay not to have a goal waiting neatly at the start of January.

Kopi Cat isn’t about rejecting growth. It’s about loosening the grip of urgency around it. About questioning the idea that change must always be visible, impressive, or immediate. Children already absorb so much pressure — from school, from peers, from the world quietly telling them to hurry up and be more.

This story is an attempt to offer something softer.

Sometimes growth looks like striving. Sometimes it looks like noticing. Sometimes it looks like staying exactly where you are for a while.

Making Space For Pause, Not Pressure

Creating in the in-between moments

There’s another part of this story that feels important to share. I didn’t write or edit this book in long, exhausting stretches. A small amount of the final editing happened while I was on holiday in Bangkok, tucked into the edges of the day.

In the evenings, surrounded by warm air, the hum of the city, unlimited drinks, and canapés appearing as if by magic, I’d take a few quiet minutes to refine a paragraph, adjust an illustration, or reread a page. Then I’d close the laptop and step back into the evening.

That rhythm mattered. It reminded me that creating doesn’t have to come at the cost of rest. That learning — including learning to work with AI for text, illustrations, and many rounds of editing — can happen gently. Slowly. With space for enjoyment.

In a way, the process echoed the message of the book itself.

Learning alongside enjoyment

A small story with a quiet hope

In the end, Kopi Cat and the New Year’s Resolution exists because a child asked a question I couldn’t ignore, because another child insisted the story feel honest, and because I wanted to make something that allowed space — for thought, for feeling, for quiet.

And perhaps most of all, I wrote Kopi Cat for this reason:

Because sometimes the most important thing a child needs to hear is that they don’t need to do better.

Children don't need to do better

If this resonates with you, I’d love to hear how you think about resolutions, especially when it comes to children. What questions have they asked you that made you pause? Read my book: https://drive.google.com/file/d/1C1M2sbNDT9tDKa8PiKU1Q4V-7q8X3ebq/view?usp=sharing

The Kopi Cat series reflects my long-standing interest in how language and narrative shape identity — a question that sits at the heart of curriculum and leadership. While distinct from my advisory practice, the Kopi Cat series reflects the same commitment to thoughtful language, ethical development, and intentional design that informs my work with education leaders.