New beginnings: a blank page, a fresh planner, a crisp new year striding in with perfect posture and no emotional baggage whatsoever. If only. January 1st usually arrives dragging along the same old body, the same (now overflowing) inbox, perhaps a slightly fuzzy head (I’m grateful I don’t have those any more) and a fridge harbouring half a trifle and three lonely cheeses. The calendar flips, yet here we are: gloriously, inconveniently human, with bodies we don’t necessarily like after the festivities have taken their toll.
The myth is that beginnings are clean. In practice, they’re often wobbly, hesitant and clumsy. Take the classic scene: you sit down on 1st January with noble intentions, perhaps a colour-coded planner, and within thirty seconds you’re suddenly desperate to put the kettle on, check email, or reorganise the sock drawer. The shoulders tighten, the belly flutters, the jaw sets, the mind whispers “later.” Nothing’s gone wrong it’s just that this is what starting often looks and feels like.
From a somatic perspective, the body is already in process long before the mind catches up with its plans. While the head declares “fresh start,” the body might be saying “really?” or “let’s just see.” So here’s an invitation: pause for a moment and sense into what “new beginning” feels like right now. Is there a fizz of excitement somewhere? A heaviness behind the sternum? A flatness in the limbs? A tiny spark of hope lurking under the ribs? No need to tidy it up or turn it into something inspiring. Let the body have its say, let’s go with curiosity, not critique.
This is where resolutions are a little bossy. The all-or-nothing flavour of “I will do this perfectly from now on” doesn’t leave much room for being a work-in-progress. What if the intention for 2026 were softer, more process-friendly, and kinder to your nervous system? Something like, “I’ll notice my breath once a day—especially when my chest tightens before I open the laptop,” rather than “I’ll meditate flawlessly every morning at 6am.” Or, “I’ll keep checking in with how this feels in my body,” instead of “I will never feel overwhelmed again.” Tiny, somatic, and actually possible.
If you’d like a small experiment for January, try this: once a day, pause and ask, “How is this beginning going in my body right now?” You might be mid-email, mid-sigh, or mid-biscuit. Notice one small, imperfect action you’ve taken—a single phone call made, a ten-minute walk, a stretch between meetings, one conscious breath before replying to that tricky message—and let that count as a beginning. Wobble, backtracking, and pauses are not disqualifiers. They are part of the shape of starting.
Life is forever in motion, and so are you. New beginnings are less like pressing a reset button and more like joining a dance that was already underway. As 2026 unfolds, perhaps the kindest intention is this: to show up as a work-in-progress, on purpose, listening to the quiet wisdom of your body as you go. We could start right now – what sensations are you noticing in your body, freshly, in this moment?