AKA The Great Expat New Year Resolution Delusion
Every January 1st, without fail, the British expats of Spain wake up filled with hope, optimism, and a dangerous amount of confidence.
“This is the year,” they say, clutching a coffee like it’s a legally binding contract.
“This is the year I learn Spanish properly.”
Not hola, dos cervezas, and la cuenta, obviously. No.
Proper Spanish. With tenses. And gendered nouns. Possibly even the subjunctive, although nobody’s entirely sure what that is.
They download Duolingo. They tell their neighbours. They promise themselves they’ll stop defaulting to English the moment someone speaks a bit too fast or uses a word longer than three syllables.
By January 7th, they’re back to pointing at things and saying,
“Este… this… thing… you know… for the pool.”
Then there’s the health resolution brigade.
“This year I’m walking every morning,” they announce, gazing heroically at the Mediterranean sunrise.
Which they do. For three days. Until they remember it’s actually January, the sun lies to you, and that breeze off the mountains cuts straight through your bones.
Gym memberships are taken out. Rarely used. Always discussed.
“I would go more,” they explain, “but it’s too busy.”
Or too quiet. Or too far. Or the parking’s a nightmare. Or they pulled something in 2019 and it’s never been quite right since.
Then we have the financial resolutions.
“This year, we’re really going to save money.”
Said by people living in Spain, surrounded by €5 gin and tonics, €1,20 coffees, and menus del día that actively undermine willpower.
They start strong.
No eating out. No midweek drinks. No “just popping out for one”.
By mid-January they’re back on a sunny terrace saying,
“Well, it’d be rude not to enjoy it, wouldn’t it?”
And finally, the big one.
“This is the year we fully integrate.”
They’ll shop at Spanish butchers.
They’ll attend local fiestas.
They’ll stop comparing everything to “how we did it back home”.
Two weeks later they’re driving 40 minutes to an Iceland, complaining that the sausages are “too herby”, and muttering darkly about how “it’s just not the same, is it?”
But every year, come December 31st, they’ll do it all again.
New notebook.
New plan.
New determination.
Because deep down, despite the failed resolutions, the half-learned Spanish, and the gym card gathering dust…
They’re still happier here.
And that’s one resolution that quietly sticks.
