We’ve reached the end of January.
I noticed it the other morning, standing in the kitchen, half-awake. Kettle on. Rain tapping against the window again. Nothing dramatic. Just the quiet realisation that the month was nearly done… and a small exhale I hadn’t realised I was holding.
January has a reputation doesn’t it. For some it feels like the longest month of the year, not just because it has 31 days, but because it can feel like it has far more. The festive lights come down. The inbox fills up. The weather turns grey. The promise of the new year starts to feel a little thinner.
Earlier in the month I wrote about “Sunshine Saturday” – that day the travel industry talks about, when bookings spike as people search for something to lighten the mood. I smiled when I read about it. Not because it’s wrong, but because it captures something familiar. When things feel heavy, we look for a horizon. Something ahead.
January can also carry a lot of pressure. Financial year ends. Reporting cycles. Getting back up to speed. Add the relentless rain and flooding we’ve seen in parts of the UK or the wildfires sweeping through parts of South Africa, and it’s easy to see why enthusiasm fades. We’re surrounded by jokes and memes about how grim it all is, and there’s a strange comfort in sharing that story together.
Standing there with my coffee I found myself wondering what happens when that becomes the only story we tell. That’s not to deny real difficulty, only to notice how easily a shared story can pile on top of whatever’s already there.
Not in a “think positive” way (I’ve never found that very useful) but in a quieter, more curious way. What are we paying attention to? What are we amplifying? And how much does that shape how this season feels from the inside?
I’ve noticed over time how people can be moving through similar seasons, yet experience them very differently. Not because one is doing life better than the other but because of the lens they’re looking through in that moment.
January seems to invite that noticing. When my attention settles on what’s missing, warmth, ease, momentum, the days feel long and heavy. When it shifts to what’s quietly moving, even imperfectly, the month softens. Not suddenly joyful, just less tight.
That doesn’t mean goals are always front and centre. Sometimes life pulls focus elsewhere. Work asks more. Family needs take priority. Energy dips. The neat plans we made at the turn of the year don’t unfold as imagined.
For me Built With Intention has never really been about fresh starts or dates in a diary. It’s more a way of noticing how I’m meeting whatever’s here. Whether I’m rushing or bracing. Trying to force clarity before it’s ready. Or allowing a little space for things to settle and show themselves.
Some days that comes easily. Other days, less so.
As January closes I find I’m less interested in whether the year is “on track”. More curious about how it feels to be in it. Where there’s unnecessary pressure. Where there might be room to ease off. Where attention could gently shift, not to fix anything but simply to see more clearly.
Maybe that’s a useful pause for you too. Not to take action or make a plan. Just to notice.
How does this season feel when you stop long enough to listen?
Patrick Hickman 