DV Journal

It would be easy to argue against making New Year’s resolutions. They’re hard to keep and, often, too narrow in focus. In a rapidly changing world, why would we think that something we value in January will still hold true in June?

And yet, despite those risks, my 2025 New Year’s resolution feels instinctive and solid. A little background is required.

My parents supported their family through a small corner grocery store. As their children, we were the unpaid hired hands who would do odd jobs to help my parents and assist customers in whatever ways they asked.

My parents were the kind of grocers one could only dream of having. Kind, generous, willing to let customers buy on credit, willing to hear them share way more information about their lives than my parents truthfully wanted to hear.

The attitude at Utica Grocery was summed up in an edict my father frequently told us:

“What goes around, comes around.”

By this, he meant if we treated people with respect and dignity, we could expect the same back. Be kind, and people will be kind to us. Be charitable, and people will extend a helping hand. It was what my parents modeled daily, and we, as their children, learned.

So why, in 2025, am I hearing my dad’s message so loudly? I fear it is because of what we’ve become. We seem very me-centered. We’ve grown cynical. Generosity of spirit—helping people in non-material ways—can be hard to spot. Our patience continues to dwindle.

I realized I was having a “patience problem” when I recently began to learn the game of Mahjong. Picking up the game was my way of preparing for some eventual retirement. It’s intended to help me connect with others when I’m not at the dog park, attending synagogue, or at my desk writing. Many research studies have confirmed the value of social connections as we age.

So I’m sitting at the Mahjong table, and one of the players is taking a very long time to choose which tiles to drop. In fairness to him, he was a Chief Financial Officer and is preternaturally precise and strategic in thinking through his moves. But now, our Mahjong game has slowed to a crawl.

I become antsy. While I could have engaged in self-talk and said, “Everyone is learning, and everyone’s pace is different. Cool your jets,” I didn’t do that.

Instead, I said, “Jack, you know we learn by making mistakes, so don’t be afraid to make some. Plus, we have only 20 more minutes. At this rate, we might not finish the game.” The other two players at the table smiled when I said this. They were getting impatient, too, but they had more self-restraint.

I parked this observation about my impatience until later when I thought back to my dad, who epitomized patience and kindness. Even better, on issues far more consequential than playing Mahjong, my dad had a habit of giving everyone the benefit of the doubt.

Were he sitting at the Mahjong table, I can imagine my dad saying, “I bet Jack is going to teach us something really important. We’re lucky he’s so thoughtful.”

Imagine that? Imagine having the instinct to give people the benefit of the doubt. It’s a far cry from our world today, where we brood about people gaming the system, or feel despair about hypocritical leaders, or wonder whether scientists still offer objective truth. The list is endless, and the mental toll it takes to always be on the lookout for behavior we can call out is deflating.

Maybe my dad was onto something. Changing our lens and viewing the world with a bigger heart and a more open mind can yield many positive aftereffects.

We might find that when we give people the benefit of the doubt, they live up to our expectations. And giving really is more fun than receiving. Optimism might become a new norm, and along with it might come better mental health, more resilience, and an overall improved quality of life.

All I had to do was remind myself of my father’s words:

“What goes around, comes around.”

And just like that, my 2025 resolution is born. Lead with positivity and kindness, and it will help me believe in our future, in what may become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

The end of the year is a time when we reflect on the best ways to give back in the holiday season and in the year ahead. There’s no shortage of fantastic ways to do good, and a myriad of great charities that help noble causes, from reducing poverty and boosting education to protecting the environment and advancing healthcare.

Sadly though, the dispiriting truth is that the fight against poverty, disease and hunger has lost momentum. Why haven’t we made more headway against the big problems facing the world in recent years? There are plenty of answers, but one reason is that the global development industry has tried to do too much at once.

In 2015, the United Nations came up with a 169-point agenda to fix all the problems facing humanity by 2030. The so-called Sustainable Development Goals were agreed to by all the world’s leaders with the best of intentions. Yet, with five years left, the world is wildly off-track on almost all the 169 promises. Trying to focus on everything means we have prioritized nothing and achieved very little.

The new year offers us a fresh opportunity to rethink this approach. Instead of trying to do it all — as a society and as ordinary citizens with our own giving — we could prioritize the interventions that create the most effect. That means those that provide the highest returns on investment for people, the planet and future generations.

The truth is that the best investments aren’t necessarily the ones that attract headlines or gain attention from celebrities. I have collaborated with more than 100 of the world’s top economists and several Nobel Laureates to establish which of the many global goals would deliver the most return on investment.

Across hundreds of pages of peer-reviewed, free analysis, we have identified the 12 smartest things we could do to make life better for the poorer half of the planet. These solutions are seldom making headlines, but they are cheap and incredibly powerful.

There is a compelling case to focus on tackling the diseases that have already been wiped out in rich countries like malaria and tuberculosis, which have become diseases of poverty. The simple act of providing more anti-mosquito bed-nets and expanded malaria treatment across Africa would save 200,000 lives yearly, with benefits worth $48 for every dollar spent. Healthy, productive individuals are more likely to innovate, work and contribute to the world, ultimately benefiting everyone.

Another great cause is maternal and infant health. When a pregnant mother lacks essential nutrients and vitamins, her child’s growth and brain development will be slower. Her kids will be condemned to do worse throughout their lives. A mere $2.31 can ensure that an expectant mother receives a basic multivitamin supplement that means her children will grow up healthier, smarter and more productive. Every dollar spent on nutritional supplements for pregnant women can yield up to $38 in economic benefits. This is not a far-off utopia. It’s a proven solution that could be scaled up immediately.

Another simple but powerful investment is in improving learning. In the world’s poorest countries, only one-in-10 10-year-olds can read and write. We need to fix this, not just because it’s the right thing to do but to reduce future strife and reliance on aid, and to ensure countries can write their own success stories.

Countless studies show that if seven hours of daily schooling remain traditional and ineffective, after one year the student will have learned as much as normally takes three years. The costs are modest: Sharing a tablet costs about $31 per student annually. The return on investment is extraordinary: Children who learn more become more productive adults, resulting in a return of $65 for every dollar spent. This is a great long-term investment for a more stable, self-sufficient world.

My hope for the world in 2025 is that governments and institutions will stop dithering and focus on solutions that yield the best results. By prioritizing what truly works, we could accomplish more in one year than we have managed over a decade of indecision.

On a personal level, each of us can contribute to making 2025 the year we commit to real progress for everyone. As the new year approaches, we must shift our focus from chasing endless, unrealistic goals and instead recognize what’s already working. Our resolution should be to invest our time, attention, resources and political will into actions that create the greatest positive change in people’s lives.

My New Year’s Resolution for 2024 was shaped by a random moment. I was coming out of the shower, full of thoughts about a novel I’m working on. I suddenly noticed seven small makeup bags, replete with sample giveaways I’ve accumulated for way too long, tucked away in a corner.

Then, I thought that I had many small corners in my life needing cleanup. I was looking at only one. “It’s time,” I told myself. “My novel and its characters will have to await their fate. Mine is happening right here and now.”

And just like that, I was on my way to a New Year’s resolution. In my fictional character’s world, “Alfred” would call it “a perfect twofer.” I would combine cleaning with a thoughtful resolution that serves a higher purpose.

If my resolution were just about purging makeup, that would seem shallow. Instead, I decided to expand the concept of cleaning the small corners of my life to “creating space,” not just physical space.

Who doesn’t need more space in their lives? Space to explore, space to be, space to accept. Space means simplicity. Space means honoring the essentials. And then, while cleaning my corner of pouches, I identified the most important space of all to preserve.

The space to listen.

This would be a continuance of a long-sought goal of mine to improve communication skills, only taking it one level higher. It’s beyond the need to interrupt less or not formulate your response while others are still making their point.

Making the space to listen means suppressing a tendency to fill the space when a conversation goes silent. Since I am a good conversationalist, it’s not difficult for me to seamlessly interject something that fits. However, we lose something in the process.

When we let the silence linger, we allow shy people to jump in. We think a little more before stating our views. We demonstrate humility by acknowledging that answers aren’t always quick or easy.

At its core, respecting the silent moments is about adjusting our attitude of sharing what we know and learning from others. Bodies of research have shed light on the value of letting the silence linger. There is the so-called “Rule of awkward silence” for helping  to build emotional intelligence, which goes … 

When faced with a challenging question, instead of answering, you pause and think deeply   — for 5, 10, or even 15 seconds or more  —  about how you want to answer. 

The same researcher cites some of our most successful business leaders — think Jeff Bezos and Tim Cook — as practicing some version of the Rule of Awkward Silence.

There is also a practice called “intentional silence,” where one holds one’s response for four seconds of thoughtful deliberation. Counting to four seems easy enough, but some habits would need changing for the speaker and the listener. I would need to abandon my practice of quick responses, a byproduct of growing up in a large family and wanting to get my words in. Listeners’ habits would also need changing in a world where attention spans are short and patience is shorter.

This year’s resolution for respecting a lingering silence seems particularly important given the times. It is likely that 2024 will start like 2023 went out — filled with turmoil, angst and heightened sensitivities. Building a tolerance for the silent pause means there is a greater chance we will pick our words and cull our ideas more carefully, and we will give space for others to do the same. Or, as Winston Churchill once said, “We are masters of unsaid words, but slaves of those we let slip out.”

I like my new goal of making space for silence. It started in the simplest of ways  —  taking a shower and noticing a pile   — and will finish with an awareness of sanctifying a particular space. My new commitment to respect the silent pause in conversation is simple only on the surface. It might be my hardest resolution yet.

When I get wobbly, I will think of 19th-century poet Thomas Carlyle, who adapted the old Arabic proverb, “Speech is silver. Silence is golden,” and shortened it to, “Silence is golden.” What was true in the 19th century is true now, too.

So, 2024, I am ready! But you might see me before you hear me.