Why We’re Skipping These New Year’s Resolutions in 2025

New Year’s resolutions are all well and good—we’ve even made a few ourselves. There’s nothing wrong with setting goals to improve your wellbeing, and the fresh start of January can be a great motivator. But not every aspect of our lives needs optimizing. Eating dinner at midnight, watching trashy reality TV, and blaring music through our headphones during a run—this is the spice of life. Here are all of the vices that we’re hanging onto in 2025.

Not Planning My Adventures More Than Absolutely Necessary

At school and work I’ve always managed to be organized enough to get by, but it’s a constant struggle against my true Type B nature. In real life, I don’t even try to pretend that I’m a planner.

There are undeniable consequences to the seat-of-my-pants approach to life—I don’t make it to some really amazing backpacking spots because I don’t think to enter the permit lottery months in advance, for example. But even if you put aside the headache of making plans, I also just genuinely enjoy making last-minute decisions throughout a loosely planned adventure. I love being able to shape my weekend based on how far I feel like driving and what the weather’s like to the south versus the west and if, at that moment, I want to go for a hike or a bike ride. And I like that a loose itinerary leaves me flexible to jump on any unforeseen opportunities that might arise.

Obviously there’s a point when not making plans becomes inconsiderate (like when other people are trying to coordinate their schedule with yours), or even downright unsafe (like when you don’t have the right gear because you didn’t know the conditions you were getting into). That kind of thing is worth the extra effort. But in 2025, I fully intend to continue leaving town on a Friday afternoon with a full car and only the vaguest idea of what I’ll do the next day, or even where my campsite that night will be.—Miyo McGinn, assistant editor, Outside

Spending Way Too Much Time on Facebook Marketplace

Every night after we put our daughter to bed, my wife and I pour ourselves steaming cups of tea, curl up on the couch, and then scroll for hours on Facebook Marketplace. We hunt for the items we need and sell the items we no longer use. We bargain, lowball, and negotiate with random people on the internet. It’s not exactly the romantic ritual that we anticipated when we got married almost a decade ago. But back then, we never anticipated that parenthood, homeownership, and normal middle-class suburban life would require so much stuff. And with American wages still trailing far behind the post-pandemic wave of inflation, our checking accounts are far too empty to pay retail for the items we need. Enter, Facebook Marketplace: a user-friendly platform for buying and selling used stuff, where every asking price is negotiable. Winter jackets, toys, tools, books, ski poles, bathroom vanity units, automobile tires, shelves, and bicycle parts—these are just some of the items that I’ve bought and sold on Facebook in recent months. And while I could abandon this practice and spend my evening hours reading or pondering the meaning of life, that’s just not going to happen.—Frederick Dreier, articles editor, Outside

Not Letting My Skins Dry Out In Between Tours

Skiing is my all-time favorite activity, but there are way too many pieces of gear involved. I’m not always the most organized person, so it’s essential to me that my gear is as simple and streamlined as possible. I try to be on top of it and let my touring skins dry out every time after a backcountry ski. But there have been way too many instances when I forget to re-pack them and drive halfway to the trailhead (or sometimes all the way there) until I realize I left them at home. And when I’m touring before or after work on weeknights, there just isn’t enough daylight to waste time like that. As a shoddy solution, I’ve taken to leaving my skins inside my pack right where I left them when I transitioned—ready to go for the next time I need them. My skins won’t stay as sticky for as long since they won’t dry out as well, but if it means it’s one less piece of gear to remember, that’s a price I’m willing to pay.—Kelly Klein, gear editor, Outside

Scrolling on My Phone Before Bed

I know, I know. The blue light disrupts my sleep cycle, the flood of information overstimulates my brain, and what I’m really doing is revenge procrastination. But with a toddler, a stepdaughter, a farm, and a full-time job, I’m on the go from sunrise until the moment my little one is tucked into bed, and I just want an hour or two to myself. I want to catch up on the news I missed while I was in meetings all day and mindlessly watch cooking videos on TikTok—even if it means sacrificing a bit of quality sleep.—Abigail Wise, digital director, Outside

Driving an Absolutely Filthy Truck

In 2025, I might try and establish more of a morning routine, or make a habit of walking during my lunch break. But I will not wash my damn truck.

I live down a dirt road, on a dusty piece of desert land with a big garden, tall cottonwoods, four horses, and no garage to speak of. I park outside, in the baking sun and the driving rain. I spend my weekends romping through the mud to get to the bend in the river where the big browns live. I climb into the driver’s seat with dust from dozens of miles on high-alpine trails on my shoes. I road trip endlessly in the winter, through salt- and sand-treated roads, to chase storms. And as much as I love my cherry little 2002 Toyota Tacoma, I just can’t be bothered to try and keep her in mint condition. I will spare no expense when it comes to the parts that matter: her engine, suspension, good tires. But cosmetics? I don’t have the time or the money. She looks better with a little rooster tail of mud on either side, anyways.

Come to think of it, I’ll take the same approach to my body, too. I’ll happily pay for the things that make me go, like physical therapy, great food, and a comfy bed. But the crows feet gathering around the corners of my eyes? Well, it wouldn’t look right to drive a filthy truck with a flawless face, now, would it.—Abigail Barronian, senior editor, Outside

Eating the Whole Jar of Nutella

Long ago, in my twenties, I went on a women’s climbing exchange to France, climbing in Buoux, on Corsica, and in the Verdon Gorge. Among my cohort from America was Rhea Dodd, of Boulder, Colorado, and on that trip we were introduced to the Italian-made hazelnut-cocoa paste Nutella, which may not even have been available yet in this country. In La Palud, somehow, we five visitors were each given a little plastic sampler of it along with something—a cookie, a cracker?—to eat it on, and a tiny popsicle stick to dig it out. I thought it was the best thing I’d ever had, and Rhea, with a mock mournfulness that cracked me up, said, of our little bites, “That just makes me want more.”

Unfortunately, when I get a jar of Nutella—which contains 12 grams of fat per two tablespoons, and a primary ingredient of sugar—there is no stopping me. Only last week, my husband said, “What happened to the Nutella?” There had been a jar here…On a hiking trip to Patagonia two years ago, I was thrilled to be offered Nutella at breakfast, but OK, we were hiking eight to 12 miles a day, so we could eat a lot.

Rhea, who became a dear lifelong friend, who was a veterinarian and lifelong champion of animals, including elephants, is gone now, lost young to cancer; and I think of her every time I see a jar. Because I eat too much of it, I don’t always keep Nutella on-hand, but I never go too long between jars.—Alison Osius, senior editor, Outside

Not Unpacking from Trips Until the Next One

Few things bring me more joy than returning home after an all-day spring skiing mission, tossing my pack on the floor next to my bed, and not looking at it again until I’m about to head out the door for my next expedition. It makes me frantic to clean dormant electrolyte mixes out of stinky water bottles and throw out old, moldy snacks five minutes after I text my adventure partners, “On my way.” But the simplicity of not unpacking hits like hard drugs.

The spare bedroom of my apartment sits at an ambient 48 degrees Fahrenheit because the woodstove is upstairs and, shocker, heat rises. It isn’t good for much but a gaping, disorganized gear closet. It houses bikes, skis, and touring packs full of dubious goodies. It’s a nightmare, but it’s my nightmare, and I’ll keep it looking like someone tossed a hand grenade in a ski shop this year, and into the next one.—Jake Stern, digital editor, Outside

Hoarding Chapstick

I try to be extremely conscious of my consumption and buying habits, which goes only as far as purchasing chapstick. Living and working in the world of skiing, my lips get pretty dry in the winter and I’m no stranger to a bluebird ski day lip sunburn. I have at least ten different types of chapstick for all sorts of purposes—SPF for the day, endless tubes of Aquaphor for the night, ultra-moisturizing, aloe, and of course a treasure trove of some that are just for fun. I don’t need anyone to tell me I don’t need this many lip products, or even worse, that they don’t work (I won’t hear of it). Here’s the thing: I don’t care. Keeping a rotation of chapstick products is fun, and ultimately harmless. I’ll be bringing all of my chapstick with stride into the new year, and probably the year after that as well.—Jamie Aranoff, digital editor, SKI

Bringing a Gourmet Picnic on Every Outdoor Adventure

When I moved to Croatia last year, I quickly realized I’d need to reassess my adventure fuel. My beloved Cliff Blocks, and the wide variety of protein bars I’d come to rely on in the states, were nowhere to be found. After attempting to choke down my 47th Corny Big (don’t ask) bar of the year, I decided it was time to branch out. What started as salami and a little bit of cheese from the deli blossomed into over-the-top sandwiches. My husband and I perfected our “mortadella, bresaola, fresh mozzarella, greens and pickled peppers piled on fresh-baked ciabatta with a hefty drizzle of olive oil” combo and it became a staple of every hike, ski day and road trip. Unfortunately, it pairs really well with a half-bottle of wine, so my backpack’s gotten way too heavy. I’m freshly back in the U.S. now, but I can’t imagine a Kind Bar is going to cut it after discovering the good things in life. I think, unfortunately, my snacks are never going back to ultralight.—Mikaela Ruland, editor-in-chief, National Park Trips

Not Wearing a Coat

Ever since I was a kid, I’ve found winter coats to be a sensory nightmare. Somehow, they’re always too tight, too bulky, and too warm. I hate the feeling of wearing them more than I hate being cold. And to be clear, I am cold. I have enough sense to bundle up for a hike, but I can’t bring myself to put a coat on when I’m only walking across the grocery store parking lot. “I’m just going to be in and out,” I say, even when the temperature is below freezing. The ease of forgoing this one article of clothing somehow makes running errands in the winter more bearable. My parents still tsk-tsk me for my ill-advised sartorial choices, but unfortunately, I’m an adult now and nobody can make me change.—Isabella Rosario, associate editor, Outside 

Eating Dessert Every Single Night

I have a major sweet tooth. I believe I inherited this from my Dad because he’s a late-night dessert eater, too. Maybe I have a sugar addiction—who knows? And who cares? The comfort and excitement that I feel when I warm up a brownie (I always heat it for exactly 23 seconds in the microwave) and top it with Ben and Jerry’s Half-Baked ice cream is worth the calories. I was born in April, and we Taureans like a little bit of luxury when it comes to treating ourselves. Each night, around 11, I sit at my dining table with my brownie-and-ice-cream-filled bowl, turn on my electric fireplace, ask Alexa to play smooth jazz, roll out a place setting, and dig in. When I’m done, I lift the bowl to my lips and drink the melted ice cream. As I type this, I’m already salivating. I can’t wait for tonight.—Ayana Underwood, senior health editor, Outside

Sitting Like a Bird

When I’m working, the only way I can focus is sitting perched on top of my chair. It’s hard to explain unless you’re also prone to perching but let me try: I put my feet on the seat, knees bent and tucked up to my chest with my upper body curled forward to type or write. When I worked in an office setting, this position would alarm people. I got a lot of, “How do you sit like that?” from colleagues. Embarrassed, I’d attempt to put my feet on the floor like a professional, but it felt like a prison for my legs. (According to the medical handbook of Instagram, this is typical for neurodivergent folks with concentration problems, and yeah, that’s me.) At some point, I’ll probably need new joints. I could resolve to save up enough money to get myself this chair for “fidgety sitters” but I don’t know if it will let me feel as bird-like as I need to do good work. So professionalism and physical health be damned, I’m sitting like a weirdo for life.—Ali Nolan, digital editor, RUN

Drawing the Line at Cheese

Over the last few years I’ve made some significant changes to my diet for environmental reasons. For instance, I grow a ton of my summer produce. And 95 percent of my home cooking is plant-based. I only eat meat when I’m dining out or someone else serves it to me. That’s because the meat and dairy industries account for about 14.5 percent of global greenhouse gases worldwide. I also switched to plant-based milk (coconut is my fave). But don’t come after my cheese. Cheddar, feta, parm, gruyere, mozzarella, it doesn’t matter which type: I’m nothing without these gooey, salty, satisfying cheeses. I’ll skip meat for the rest of my days if I have to. Just don’t come after my cheese.—Kristin Hostetter, head of sustainability and Outside contributing editor