New Year’s Resolutions That Actually Make a Difference

How changing a few everyday habits improved my wellbeing and reduced my footprint

We talk a lot about sustainability, about feeling uneasy with the state of the planet. But for most of us, that’s where it stops. There’s a gap between our values and our everyday habits, and we carry that misalignment around without quite knowing how to act on it.

January is usually when this tension surfaces. The new year arrives with its natural pause. A moment to reflect, reset, and promise change. And yet, most New Year’s resolutions don’t stick. They didn’t for me either.

What finally changed wasn’t discipline, but the way I chose my habits:

• I chose only one or two small, everyday habits.
• I prioritised the ones that felt most misaligned with my values in the life phase I was in.
• I focused on contribution to the planet, not self-improvement.
• We did it together with my husband, keeping each other accountable (and occasionally annoyed).

The first steps were embarrassingly small. Often uncomfortable and inconvenient. But once a habit clicked, something unexpected happened: I felt better. More aligned. And I didn’t want to go back.

So this is my journey: a series of small sustainable habits I chose at different life moments. I’m sharing it as an invitation to move from talking to doing. Find one or two habits that resonate and start a journey you feel genuinely proud of today.

A Life-Stage Guide to Small Habit Changes

1. When you’re just starting out

Why small, almost ridiculous habits matter

Our first steps were tiny. Plastic bags. Plastic straws.

Looking back, it feels almost absurd how much attention banning plastic straws got. But at the time, we had to start somewhere, even if the first step felt symbolic rather than impactful. 

I remember juggling groceries in my arms because I’d forgotten a bag and refused a plastic one. Things falling. Me looking ridiculous. And feeling proud.

That pride mattered more than the actual impact of the habit. It made me want more alignment between what I believed and how I behaved. Because it felt good!

2. When life gets busy (and better paid)

How food, fashion and mobility became everyday climate decisions

Living in London, there came a moment when I earned enough to afford better food and clothes.

That sentence alone says a lot.

Sustainability was suddenly everywhere: in corporate conversations, branding, lunch breaks. Some colleagues went vegan. Others cycled. Some bought vintage. Me and my husband followed. Seasonal and local food, quality clothes and commute were daily, visible habits within our control.

What surprised me was how disconnected I had become from the basics. I no longer knew what was seasonal and had to relearn it. Farmers markets became our ritual. Talking to farmers quickly taught me who I trusted (usually the ones who didn’t sell everything all year round). We ended up with “our people”: one for tomatoes, one for fish, one for meat.

Almost without trying, plastic disappeared from our grocery routine. And we ate better.

Cycling came next. I chose an electric bike. A regular bike would have been more sustainable, but with a one-hour commute, the electric option made the habit realistic. Lowering the barrier turned intention into something I could actually sustain. And London looks so much nicer from a bike.

3. When the world pauses

Relearning our relationship with nature

Covid was a shock for all of us.

We lost our grandfather, the caretaker of a small orchard and vineyard. Suddenly, responsibility shifted to us. For the land. For the trees. For the soil. And we realised how little we knew.

Caring for nature isn’t romantic. It’s work. And climate change makes it harder. Local knowledge is disappearing, and without it, food doesn’t simply appear. 

Working remotely from my village, close to mountains and soil, made everything tangible. No commute. Shared tools. Food grown nearby or by ourselves.

Comparing a tomato grown in our garden to one shipped across Europe made “sustainability” painfully concrete.

It also made one thing clear to me: simply stepping away from city life, even temporarily, can reduce your footprint more than a hundred small consumer choices. We don’t talk about that enough.

4. When you put down roots

From disposable purchases to long-term thinking

Buying our first flat in London shifted our mindset overnight.

Furniture stopped being something that simply “fills space” and became an investment in time. It wasn’t just about price anymore, but about how long something would last, whether it would age well, is repairable, and stay relevant beyond the moment we bought it.

We started questioning familiar brands. Were we paying for design, or for quality? For trends, or for good construction? For sustainability claims, or for genuinely local materials and production?

That way of thinking quickly spread to fashion as well. I began checking where things were made and prioritising European production, not as a label, but as a proxy for materials, standards, and longevity.

Ownership gave us permission to care.

5. When you become a parent

Children reveal the hidden cost of “normal” habits

Nothing accelerates change like a child.

Our daughter has atopic dermatitis (eczema), combined with allergies. If you’ve lived through that, you know the weight of it: sleepless nights, constant scratching, a library of creams and medicine from almost day one.

It doesn’t feel normal yet it’s increasingly common. There is no single cause, but environmental exposure, processed food, and toxic materials are part of the picture. Things we tolerate as adults: what we discard into water, soil, and air, often show up first in innocent.

We had no choice but to start paying attention. Reading labels properly. Questioning what we put on our bodies and intothem. What is natural? What is nutritious? What is actually safe?

We started doing this for our daughter. But it quickly changed how our whole family eats and lives.

6. When you start from scratch

Designing better defaults at home

Moving back to my village and building a house felt like starting from zero in the best possible way.

Suddenly, we had to learn about materials. About toxicity. About regulation. About local architecture. Choices that once felt abstract became permanent, and that changed how carefully we approached every decision.

We chose local materials and traditional architecture where possible, not out of nostalgia, but because they’ve been tested here for centuries. Built for strong winds, hot summers, and the realities of the local climate.

We’re furnishing slowly. Reusing what we already have from our “past lives”: wedding gifts, inherited objects, pieces that waited years for a home that could finally receive them.

For everything else, we set new rules. Starting from the ground up gave us something rare: the ability to design better defaults. No toxic materials. No rushed purchases. We only buy when something truly fits our home and our values even if that means waiting.

Starting The Keepers deepened this thinking even further. Learning how things are made gave me the confidence to choose for longevity, not immediacy.

Where to Begin, Based on the Life You’re In

Habits stick when they help us live closer to the kind of citizens we want to be and when they fit the life we’re actually living.

Some changes are easier in cities. Others only make sense in villages. Some come with parenthood. Others with stability, space, or time.

Choose one habit that feels reasonable now. Let it become normal. Then, if and when it feels right, add another.

If it helps, we’ve put together a small list of natural, non-toxic alternatives to everyday homeware simple replacements for things that quietly do more harm than we realise.

One object. One habit. One step.

That’s enough to begin.