Author: patrickhickmancoaching

In the travel industry, the first Saturday of the new year is known as Sunshine Saturday. It’s the day when bookings spike as people lock in summer holidays and give themselves something bright to look forward to. The festive bubble has burst, inboxes are full again and here in the northern hemisphere the days are short, cold and, if you’re in the UK, reliably damp. Dreaming of blue skies and warm evenings can feel like a lifeline.

And it works. At least, it feels like it does.

But I’ve found myself increasingly curious about what’s really going on in moments like that. Is it genuinely the future holiday that’s lifting our mood or is something else at play – something much closer to home and far more accessible?

The promise of sunshine

There’s nothing wrong with booking a holiday. I love having trips in the diary myself. That sense of anticipation can feel energising, especially when life feels a bit flat. Yet if we slow down for a moment, it’s worth asking where that lighter feeling is actually coming from.

The plane ticket hasn’t changed anything yet. The weather outside is the same. Work hasn’t eased off. And yet, inside, something shifts.

That question – what really creates our experience of life – has been quietly shaping how I see the world for several years now.

A different way of understanding experience

This way of looking at things first opened up for me when I was “restructured” out of a role at work. A colleague handed me a copy of Clarity by Jamie Smart. I’ve read it several times since, and I’ll be honest: the first read made sense mainly at an intellectual level. It felt interesting, even logical, but also slightly out of reach.

I kept trying to think my way into a deeper understanding of what Jamie was pointing to. That approach didn’t get me very far, or at least it didn’t last. Over time, and especially through working with my own coach who trained with Jamie, something began to settle in a more lived, practical way.

The core insight is simple, but not always easy to see at first: our feelings don’t come from our circumstances. They come from our thinking in the moment.

What this looks like in real life

This doesn’t mean life suddenly becomes smooth or that bad days disappear. They don’t. I still have moments of frustration, and I can still be grumpy enough to test the patience of those around me. Fitness helps, rugby helps, getting outside helps – but none of those are magic fixes.

What has changed is how quickly things pass. When I’m irritated, it doesn’t hang around as long. When a low mood turns up, it feels less personal and less permanent. I’m not trying to “fix” it or analyse it away. I’m more willing to let it move on in its own time.

It’s also clearer to me now that the things we point to as the cause of our feelings – a comment, a result, the weather, a lack of sunshine – aren’t the source. They’re the content of our thinking, not the engine behind it.

Sunshine Saturday is a great example. It’s not the holiday that lifts the mood. It never is. It’s the hopeful thinking that briefly shows up alongside the idea of it.

Perspective under pressure

This can sound glib if it’s not grounded properly, and that’s not my intention. Some people face challenges that are genuinely overwhelming. This understanding isn’t about minimising that.

One of the clearest illustrations of this perspective comes from Viktor Frankl, the Austrian psychiatrist who survived Nazi concentration camps during the Second World War. In unimaginable conditions he observed that while everything could be taken from a person, one thing remained: the freedom to choose how to respond internally. His experience didn’t make suffering disappear but it showed that even there the source of experience was not purely external.

That’s not a benchmark to live up to, but it is a reminder of what’s possible.

As the year unfolds

As we move through the foothills of 2026, with summer still feeling a long way off, there’s nothing wrong with dreaming of warmer days. If that lifts your mood, enjoy it. Book the trip, browse the photos, imagine the sea.

Just remember this: the feeling isn’t coming from the future. It’s coming from you.

As Wayne Dyer put it, when you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change. Seeing that for yourself, even briefly, can make a quiet but lasting difference.

During December I got a notification to say that I had reached 50 blog posts. It caught me slightly off guard. I knew I had been writing more consistently throughout 2025, but I had not clocked that it had added up to fifty. When I thought about it properly, it made perfect sense – roughly one post a week for the year. Nothing heroic. Nothing dramatic. Just showing up.

What that small notification really highlighted for me was something I have come to see again and again. Consistency is where the magic lies.

The quiet power of showing up

In The Slight Edge, Jeff Olson talks about how the slight edge is always working, either for us or against us. There is no standing still. That idea has stuck with me because it feels so true when I look back on my own life. Progress is rarely the result of one big moment. It is the accumulation of small, often unremarkable actions taken consistently over time.

I can also see the opposite. There have been periods where I have become comfortable and subconsciously sat back to admire what I had created. Nothing obviously went wrong at first. But a few months later, or sometimes a couple of years, I would look around and realise that a quiet kind of atrophy had set in. Use it or lose it, as the saying goes. Not through failure or drama, just through a lack of movement.

Why consistency beats intensity

We are often drawn to big moves. Grand plans. Short bursts of effort that promise fast results. They are exciting and they make for good stories, but they rarely last. Consistency on the other hand does not ask for heroics. It asks for commitment.

Doing something regularly, even when motivation is low, builds a rhythm. That rhythm reduces friction and over time it becomes part of who you are rather than something you are trying to force. Whether it is writing, training, coaching, learning or leading, steady progress consistently applied compounds in ways that are hard to appreciate day to day, but impossible to ignore in hindsight.

That realisation is exactly what that simple note about fifty blog posts gave me. It was not about the number. It was about the pattern behind it.

Direction still matters

Consistency on its own is not enough. If you are consistent but heading in the wrong direction, you simply get very good at something that does not serve you. This is where clarity comes in.

I see this a lot… people work hard, stay busy and pride themselves on effort, yet feel stuck or frustrated. Often the missing piece is not motivation but intention. Where are you actually heading and why does it matter to you?

This thinking is a big part of why I created my new coaching programme, Built With Intention. Consistency is the engine, but direction sets the course. Once you have a sense of where you want to go, small daily actions start to align naturally. They stop feeling random and begin to make sense.

Pausing without stopping

One of the misconceptions about consistency is that it means never stopping or questioning yourself. In reality the opposite is true – pausing to take stock is part of staying consistent over the long term.

Regular reflection allows you to notice what is working, what is no longer serving you and what might need adjusting. The key is that the pause is intentional and not an excuse to drift. You can change direction without abandoning momentum.

The long game

Hitting fifty blog posts did not change my life but it did remind me of something important – meaningful progress is usually quiet. It rarely announces itself until you look back and join the dots.

Here’s to the next fifty. Not rushed. Not forced. Just built steadily, with intention.

I came across a post on by Steven Bartlett Facebook the other day that caught my attention. One of those deceptively simple posts that seems obvious at first glance. My initial reaction was, “Yes, that feels true.” Then I read the comments and the idea took on more depth and nuance than I first expected.

Those comments reminded me of a book I read some time ago called The Pumpkin Plan by Mike Michalowicz. In it, Michalowicz compares building a successful business to growing award-winning giant pumpkins. The key insight is not about adding more. It is about removing. To grow one exceptional pumpkin you have to cut away the others. Those smaller pumpkins might look promising but they drain nutrients from the one that has the real potential. If you leave them all, none of them truly thrive.

Several comments under Steven’s post pointed to this principle in gardening. Healthy growth is not just about watering and feeding. Timely, thoughtful pruning encourages stronger, more vibrant results. Cut back the right things, at the right time, and the whole plant benefits.

That idea translates easily into life, sport and work.

As a coach, both in a personal sense and on the grassroots rugby pitch, I see this regularly. We often focus on what we should add. More sessions, more conversations, more commitments, more effort. Rarely do we pause to consider what might need pruning. What is quietly draining energy without offering much in return.

Most of us can think of people, habits or expectations that have this effect. Individuals who find fault in what we do, question our intentions or consistently ask more from us than they give back. This is where the topic becomes uncomfortable, because it is easy to drift into extremes. Cut people off. Walk away. Be ruthless.

That is not what I am advocating.

There are many situations where giving, even when it is not balanced, brings genuine satisfaction. Parenting, volunteering, coaching young players, supporting friends through difficult periods. These relationships are not transactional and they should not be treated as such. The challenge arises when giving happens against a backdrop of resistance, negativity or obstruction. When you start to feel depleted, frustrated or wondering why you bother at all.

When that happens, I try to return to first principles. Why am I doing this? What matters to me here? What is actually within my control?

This is where a simple idea from Mel Robbins has been helpful. Let Them. Let people think what they think. Let them say what they say. Let them behave how they choose to behave. Then comes the more important part. Let Me. Let me act in line with my values. Let me invest my energy where it makes sense. Let me step back from what undermines healthy growth.

In a grassroots rugby environment, this might mean spending less time trying to persuade a resistant parent and more time supporting players who are open, curious and committed. In work, it could mean saying no to projects that look attractive but pull you away from what you do best. In life, it might involve creating a bit more distance from conversations that leave you feeling drained rather than steady.

Pruning is not about punishment. It is about clarity. It is about protecting what matters so it has the space to grow.

If there is one simple takeaway, it is this. When you feel stretched, frustrated or stuck, ask yourself what needs cutting back, not what needs adding. Progress often comes not from doing more, but from choosing more carefully.

At this time of year, when the calendar fills up and emotions often sit a little closer to the surface, it’s worth reminding ourselves of a simple truth – there are two sides to every story.

Scroll through social media, skim the comments under a news article or listen to snippets of conversation in a café, and you’ll see how quickly people rush to judgement. A single post. A single moment. A single version of events. And from that a verdict is passed. What’s usually missing is context: the unseen pressures, the private worries, the quiet struggles that never make it into the public telling.

My hope, especially during the festive season, is that we pause. Just for a moment. Before criticising. Before tearing someone down. Before adding another sharp comment to an already noisy world. The truth is we rarely know the full story of what someone else is carrying.

This is something I try to remind my own children of, using a phrase many of us grew up with: “If you’ve got nothing nice to say, say nothing.” It’s simple, it’s old-fashioned, and it’s surprisingly hard to live by.

I know this because I regularly fall short myself.

I feel it in the car when someone ahead is dithering at a junction. I feel it in the shops when my queue moves at half the speed of every other one because the person at the front is taking their time. In those moments, kindness isn’t my first response. Frustration is. Impatience is. If I’m honest my reaction usually has far more to do with my own frame of mind than with whatever that other person is doing.

When I’m tired, rushed or already carrying a bit of stress, the world feels less forgiving. When I’m calmer and more present those same situations barely register. The situation hasn’t changed… I have.

That’s why kindness matters so much. Not as a moral badge or a performative gesture, but as a quiet recognition of our shared humanity. We all struggle. Every single one of us. Even those whose behaviour seems to justify our criticism. Even those who frustrate us most.

One of the quotes in my recently published book The Way You See It captures this perfectly: “Kindness begins with the understanding that we all struggle.”

As we move through this season – busy, emotional, and imperfect – my plea is a simple one. Pause. Take a step back. Assume there’s more going on than you can see. And when in doubt, choose kindness. It costs little, but it can mean everything.

I’ve always been drawn to problem solving. Whether it’s untangling a tricky situation at work, planning a complex project or figuring out how best to structure a training session to achieve the desired outcome, there’s a certain satisfaction in resolving challenges. And yet, over time, I’ve started to notice something different happening when I’m coaching my daughters’ rugby team – a place where problem solving alone doesn’t seem to capture the full picture. Sometimes inspiration hits in the midst of doing something familiar and a solution emerges that feels effortless… even a little magical.

This is the space where problem solving meets creation. It’s where intellect and intuition overlap, and where the most impactful insights often come to life.

Problem Solving: The Intellectual Approach

Problem solving is familiar territory. It’s analytical, structured and often linear. You identify an obstacle, break it down and work out the steps to overcome it. On the pitch, this could be correcting a player’s technique or addressing a tactical gap in a game. In life or work it’s equally structured: prioritising tasks, reviewing processes or finding a workaround when things go off track.

The strength of problem solving lies in its predictability. It gives you control and direction and there’s a clear metric of success: the problem is resolved… but it also has its limits. When the mind is overactive, anxious or caught in a loop of catastrophising, even simple tasks feel like wading through mud. You can try harder, push more or think longer, yet clarity remains elusive.

Creation: Inspiration Beyond Thought

By contrast creation operates differently. It’s less about doing and more about allowing. It’s the kind of insight that arises when the mind quietens, when we stop pushing and simply notice what’s present. On the rugby pitch, this is the moment you see a player’s potential mid-drill, or intuitively adjust a session so that every player can thrive. In writing or coaching, it’s when ideas flow without effort and solutions emerge naturally.

The challenge is that creation often feels hidden beneath layers of mental clutter – our worries, habits and self-judgement. It requires letting go and creating space for insight. That doesn’t mean avoiding responsibility; it means trusting that clarity will return once the mind settles.

The Overlap: Solving Problems from Inspiration

Where the magic happens is in the overlap between problem solving and creation. This is when intellectual knowledge and intuitive insight come together. You draw on what you already know, the rules of the game, the structure of a project or your experience in a situation, while letting inspiration guide your next move.

On my world that often happens in the midst of coaching. Early on, I was anxious about judgement from other coaches who had played at higher levels. I overthought during sessions, worried about getting it wrong, and doubted my instincts. Over time I’ve learned to trust both my knowledge of the game and my ability to read the players in the moment. Now, I can give “hot feedback” in the heat of a game, and also pull a player aside for a quiet technical adjustment they can apply immediately. This blend of intellect and intuition – problem solving powered by creation – is where the real impact emerges.

It’s the same pattern in other areas of life. Recently I had to work late due to urgent personal matters. Initially my mind was in a state of catastrophising. Everything felt overwhelming and progress seemed impossible. I consciously stepped away for supper. When I returned the tasks flowed easily and I completed everything without stress. The solution wasn’t created by pushing harder; it arrived when I allowed calm to return. Doing something different gave my mind the space it needed and the clarity followed naturally.

Practical Takeaways

1. Recognise the state of mind you’re in. When things feel heavy or stuck it’s often a state issue rather than a skill issue.
2. Step away consciously. Allow your mind to settle by doing something completely different. Even a short break can be enough to let insight surface.
3. Trust your instincts. Knowledge and experience provide a foundation, but the best solutions often arise from intuition.
4. Blend intellect and intuition. Use your understanding of rules, processes or techniques while staying open to fresh insight in the moment.
5. Create space for calm. Calm isn’t a reward; it’s the condition in which clarity, creativity and effective problem solving naturally emerge.

Conclusion

Problem solving and creation aren’t opposites. They complement each other. Problem solving gives structure, clarity and direction. Creation brings insight, adaptability and inspiration. The real magic happens when they meet – when you solve problems from a place of calm, presence and trust in your instincts.

Whether you’re coaching young players, writing or tackling complex work challenges, the key isn’t trying harder. It’s recognising the rhythm of thought and calm, intellect and intuition, effort and allowance. When you allow yourself to step back, trust your experience and let calm return, you’ll often find that solutions appear effortlessly. Just like magic!