Well-intentioned Kiwis are simply set up to fail in their New Year resolutions.
What worse time could there be to start, say, trying to cut down on drinking than a night of alcohol-fuelled partying followed by the most social months of the year, when we are routinely hot, dehydrated and surrounded by temptation?
Who can lose weight in a sea of fish 'n chips and too many beers, the time of year when a fleet of ice cream trucks daily roam suburban neighbourhoods playing jaunty tunes to lure the weak of will?
The chocolate-fest of Christmas is barely in the rear-view mirror before the even sicklier sequel of Easter eggs dawn all too soon to derail any progress we might have made.
Fitness missions might start with a blaze of enthusiasm on the long, balmy days of summer but will that 6am gym sesh resolve last as the mercury descends and the days get shorter? Doubt it.
Nothing worthwhile happens at work until at least March, so our promotion ambitions get put on ice.
And thus, flimsy January resolutions cooked up in a Christmas haze fall over in a couple of months.
But there is another way.
I doubt I'm the only Pākehā Kiwi who did not give Matariki much consideration until it was promoted to public holiday status.
I welcomed this as a mid-winter reprieve for the working classes, but I'm learning there's more to it than that.
The more I read, the more I think Māori are on to something with this tradition of rest, reflection and simply being present as the cold season heads for its peak.
The days may be short and nippy but they are also quiet and ideal for introspection and cosy fireside chats.
After we feed the stars (and ourselves), there's space to start gently remaking our healthy habits in semi-hibernation, gradually building them up as the weather warms through spring and into glorious summer.
The traditions of Matariki also strike me as less individualistic than Western ways of ringing in a new year. There's a connection to natural rhythms, looking to the night sky and the future together, sharing the ways with the next generation.
It's good to set goals, to aim for growth - but there's no need to get all hot and bothered about it.
Let's leave summer for what we love about it: fun, and instead start our season of growth under the stars.
