January asks for a lot of urgency. But winter doesn’t.

What the Darkness of January Makes Possible

January is here again. As I sit in a coffee shop, I’m struck by the incongruence between the ideas that tend to get piled into this month. Winter has officially begun, and the days feel long despite the brevity of sunlight. This is the post-holiday world. We’ve made it through the hustle and bustle, maybe put away decorations, and finished lingering tasks meant to close out the year. And with little more than a breath, it’s suddenly a NEW YEAR—a NEW ERA—bringing with it a fresh set of expectations. A time for analyzing, assessing goals, and pushing ourselves toward some version of our “best life.”

What stands out most in this incongruence is that—at least in the northern hemisphere—this drive for improvement, self-help, and goal-setting lands squarely in the middle of winter. Winter. A season marked by dormancy. By hibernation, rest, and apparent stagnation. And yet, there is value in every season. Often, it is in the depth of difficulty—and sometimes pain—that we decide the work and effort required for growth and change are worth it.

This tension—between dormancy and drive, rest and resolve—often goes unnamed. Culturally, January is framed as a starting line: a call to action, a moment to optimize and overhaul. Internally, many of us are still metabolizing the year we just left—the fatigue, the grief, the relief, the unanswered questions. That digestion often takes far longer than we expect. Still, two things can be true at the same time. And perhaps the discomfort we feel in January isn’t a problem to solve, but something worth paying attention to.

We are not singular beings with one clear desire or goal at any given time. We are layered. There is often a part of us that longs for change and momentum alongside another part that is tired, cautious, or still healing. Hope and resistance can coexist. Motivation and grief. Excitement and fear. When we rush to set goals without acknowledging this complexity, we can unintentionally create pressure instead of clarity.

Without time to notice and understand what’s happening beneath the surface, we may push forward with force rather than patience. Instead of allowing the seeds already planted to take root, we disrupt progress we can’t yet see. When growth doesn’t come, we’re left wondering what went wrong.

What if January didn’t require immediate decisions or firm resolutions? What if it offered space for curiosity instead?

Curiosity allows us to pause and ask gentler, more honest questions. Not “What should I be doing this year?” but “What feels misaligned right now?” Not “Why can’t I stick to my goals?” but “What might these recurring goals be responding to?” Curiosity shifts the focus from striving and performance to noticing and understanding—from fixing to listening for what’s underneath.

When we approach goals with curiosity, we begin to see them less as demands and more as signals. A goal may point to a deeply held value, an unmet need, or a boundary that hasn’t been honored. Sometimes the goal itself isn’t the answer—it’s the clue.

This is where congruence begins to take shape. Not by forcing all parts of ourselves into agreement or pushing through resistance, but by allowing space for the full picture to emerge. It’s letting our energy, values, season of life, and inner experience inform one another. In winter, that process may look quieter and slower than we expect—but it is no less meaningful.

January doesn’t have to be about becoming someone new. It can be about becoming more attentive to who we already are. About noticing where there is tension, longing, or restlessness—and staying curious about what those experiences are asking of us. Growth that begins this way tends to be steadier, more sustainable, and more compassionate.

As this new year unfolds, perhaps the invitation isn’t to rush toward answers, but to sit with better questions. To honor the season we’re in, both internally and externally. And to trust that curiosity itself can be a form of forward movement.

What would it be like to approach this January with curiosity instead of urgency?

-Ashley Callstrom, LSCSW