Forget Resolutions —
Why You Need a Rider Instead
by Terri Trespicio
Why do our resolutions tend to crumble on the spot like a gluten-free bun? Because we often fail to ask ourselves, or anyone else, for the things we actually need to do the things we want.
And I'm sorry, but we cannot work under these conditions.
The reason New Year’s resolutions remain a tradition is simple: It feels good to make a grand, sweeping pronouncement about how Things Will Be Different Now.
To that end, we make one that’s either over-the-top (write best-selling book, renovate house) or the one from last year (eat better). We can break it down into baby steps. But that’s not once-a-year special; that’s life. No one toasts to tasks.
What if, rather than make a promise we’ll fail to keep (again), we turned the table on resolutions, and instead, put forth a set of conditions spelling out what we need right now, to make it happen?
What if we wrote…a rider?
WTF is a rider?
A rider is a document that spells out the conditions you need to perform at your best—which, if you happen to be a keynote speaker or pop star, you submit to the venue along with your contract.
These include things you insist on, like: sparkling water backstage; lunch for your team; no interruptions 30 minutes before showtime.
Or, a bowl of candy…with all the brown M&Ms removed. Because that’s what likely springs to mind when you hear the word “rider”—the famous story about Van Halen requesting that all the brown M&Ms be taken out of their green room.
It’s a true story. But they didn’t do it to be dicks.
The band at the time was traveling with a complicated lighting system which required special attention by the on-site production team. If the band members rolled up to the venue and saw brown M&Ms in the bowl, they knew that those people had not read the rider, at least, not very closely. They knew they should probably double check the equipment before showtime.
Talk about a genius way to manage expectations.
But this isn’t about green rooms or brown M&Ms. It’s about you being clear about what you need. Why should rock stars be the only ones doing this?
What if the ideas you've been handed are...mainly BS? Time for a reset.
If a resolution is what you say you’ll do (fingers crossed), your rider is a document you write that forces you to spell out in detail the conditions you require in order to deliver what you said you would.
We rarely, if ever, do this. We assume that someone will know what we want, or that we will get the resources we need without asking for them. We assume hours and days will magically open up into great, available swaths for us to start a book, finish a project, spend more time with friends, or read all the books on your nightstand.
That’s the problem—and it’s why things don’t happen the way we “hope” they will: Because if we don’t mandate the conditions, there’s no space or energy left to make that thing happen.
…You can’t stick to a 6:00 am yoga practice if you stay up til 1:00a on TikTok.
…You can’t eat real food if everything edible in your house comes in a sealed bag and can be consumed without a plate.
…And none of us can read, or write, or make anything (book, project, what have you) if there’s not one inch of unscheduled time for the next six months.
I’m sorry, but we cannot work under these conditions.
So instead of making big wishes this year, let’s get down to brass tacks, shall we?
First, identify your dreams — and your demands
This is not about being a diva or a high maintenance prick. This is about advocating for yourself as if you were being paid to do it (and in many ways, you are).
- Decide what you're agreeing to.
A rider typically accompanies an agreement. You probably have a lot of things you want to do and accomplish, but let’s stay focused on the most high priority one for now. What are you agreeing to? What commitment do you want to make? - Identify the friction.
What’s getting in the way? When you go to do “x,” what thoughts or feelings inhibit action, drain your energy and attention? Don’t just write “time and money” because that’s a given. Get specific: You’re sharing a small apartment with someone who’s always there, and there’s nowhere for you to get away. Or, you have a standing meeting at 9:00am that gets in the way of this other thing you’re trying to do. - Paint the ideal picture.
Swing in the opposite direction now and don’t hold back: What would the perfect conditions be? There’s no guarantee you’ll be able to make them all happen, but that’s not the point. The point is to write out the best, dreamiest situation. Take at least 5 minutes, 10 is better. Write it out. - Describe what an ideal day looks like, start to finish
Write up a list of things you’d love: Work-free Fridays, having your own office space, a place on the Amalfi Coast where you could write for six weeks a year. Go for it—no holds barred. - Find the wiggle room.
Ok, fine, so you may not get an Italian summer home this year or a week to yourself every quarter, but at least you know what the dream is. Now ask yourself, what is the doable version of that idea? Could you rent an AirBnB for a weekend? Invest in noise canceling headphones? Maybe you can’t take every Friday off, but could you work from home on Fridays (if you aren’t already), or block your schedule a few mornings each week so that they don’t get eaten up by meetings? - Now to the non-negotiables.
You’ve identified the friction, the dream, and the compromise. What’s left is to articulate in no uncertain terms what must change, the things that you cannot and will not endure a minute more. It can feel weird to put down a hard limit, but without it, the rider is kinda pointless. - Maybe you don’t reply to texts after 10pm.
No throwing Oreos in the cart every time (you can’t eat what you don’t buy). Maybe an issue keeps coming up at work that needs to be addressed once and for all. - And now it’s time to write your rider.
How to write your personal rider
To be clear: You aren’t going to send this out in a mass email or send it to your spouse or family member and insist they follow your new rules. This is an exercise for YOU to get clear on what you need, so that you can commit to that. Then you decide how and when you will communicate those conditions, but in a politic way—I don’t advise firing it off in an a mass email to your team or leaving under your teenagers’ bedroom doors. It won’t go well.
The rider is an exercise in stating clearly what it is you need so that you can draw some limits and set some boundaries in your life and work. And there’s a specific way I recommend writing this in order for it to “feel” as real as it is.
- Start with a welcome, from you.
Begin with a first-person statement that shares your excitement about the project or agreement at hand, whatever that is.
“Hi! I’m so looking forward to [insert what it is you are doing and the project or goal it’s for—starting this book project; boosting our sales numbers by 20% this year, etc], And while I consider myself [focused / ambitious / productive / flexible], I have some specific conditions I need to do my best work. Please review the following and sign. Thank you!”
- Write out your list of conditions in third person.
This is key. Your voice and tone will change when you are referring to yourslf as a separate person or entity for whom you are advocating. I've seen people find it easier to get brave and firm when they do this. For instance my actual speaker rider states, “Terri presents from her own MacBook Pro laptop”, and “Terri arrives the night before the event,” and so on. In my “life” rider is just as firm: “Terri does not stay out past 10 o’clock except on very rare instances,” and “Terri does not sell things on Craigslist that are worth less than $75.” (So not worth the hassle).
My favorite: “Terri does not and will not respond to any emotionally fraught emails or texts on the spot; know that your message has been received and she will respond when she’s ready to, and not a moment sooner.”
Just one idea per point, and spell it out; i.e., “Denise does not schedule client calls before 10a”; “Tiffany does not accept dick pics; if any such photograph is received, consider this agreement null and void.”
- Leave out things you don't actually care about.
Some people are real firm about not responding to email over the weekend. But if you actually like catching up on emails over the weekend, don't feel you "should" put it in the rider. Your rider is yours and highly personalized, and should reflect only what you really care about, regardless of what anyone else "thinks" you should do.
- Review it.
Tweak it as if you were sending it to a person besides you. Is it reasonable and doable? Is it something you would feel comfortable advocating on behalf of someone else?
- Send it (to yourself).
Send it (to yourself!). I’m serious. When you’re happy with it, print it out, stick it in an actual envelope, seal it and send it OUT—to your address. This is a big part of the exercise: It puts a little time and space between when you wrote it and when you read it. You’re literally putting it out into the world. When it returns, open it, read it carefully, and sign it.
Reboot your mood. Renew your focus. Reclaim your confidence.
We cannot bend the world to our will, but we can insist on, request, or refuse certain conditions. Is there risk involved? Of course. The greater risk, however, is the one you take when you contort yourself to accommodate everyone else, all the time.
It doesn’t matter, really, if you finish a book or renovation by this time next year. But your life will feel a whole lot different if, a year from now, you can look back and know that you defended your rider, and made decisions you feel good about.