About this time every year, I write some version of this letter.

For half a dozen or so years now, I’ve been inviting you into the same simple rhythm. And every year, I need the reminder myself.

October to reflect. November to dream. December to plan.

There’s nothing particularly clever about it. But it gives me a little room to listen before another year gets filled with commitments I may or may not have chosen carefully.

Life has a way of filling the calendar before we’ve had a chance to consider what belongs there.

And January will gladly inherit whatever we leave unattended.

So before we turn the page, let’s spend a little time with the life we’re actually living.

October: Reflect

Start with what happened.

Pull out your calendar. Scroll through your photos. Go back to January and work your way forward, one month at a time.

Notice the moments you want to remember. The conversations that stayed with you. The work that asked something worthwhile of you. The people who helped you feel more like yourself.

Make room for the harder things, too. The disappointment. The decision you put off. The yes you gave when something in you already knew better.

Ask yourself:

What gave me life? What wore me down? What keeps asking for my attention?

Try nine mornings, nine minutes at a time. One month each morning. Coffee, a pen, and a little willingness to tell yourself the truth.

Write before you explain it all away.

Some things will need celebrating. Others may need grieving. A few will ask you to change.

Let each have its place.

Experience gives us plenty of material. Reflection helps us learn what to do with it.

November: Dream

Once you’ve spent some time with the year behind you, give yourself permission to imagine the one ahead.

By November, it’s easy to let what’s urgent make every decision. Dreaming gives the quieter parts of your life a turn to speak.

Picture an ordinary day near the end of 2027.

Where are you? Who’s around? What work are you doing? How do you feel when you come home?

What have you made room for?

And what have you finally stopped carrying?

Set a timer for 25 minutes and write. Let yourself want what you want before deciding whether it’s practical.

You might discover an ambition you’ve been reluctant to name. You might discover that the life you want is smaller, slower, and closer than you thought.

Stay curious.

Ask who would be glad to share that life with you. Ask what it would require of you. Ask whether you’d still want it if nobody else were impressed.

There’s usually something worth listening to in those answers.

December: Plan

By December, you’ll have something to work with.

Choose three or four things that deserve your care in the coming year. Few enough that you can remember them without opening a document.

A relationship you want to tend. Work you want to bring into the world. A change in how you care for your body. A responsibility you need to hand over.

For each one, ask:

What would meaningful progress look like? What’s the first step? When will I take it? Who needs to be part of the conversation?

Put something on the calendar.

Then look honestly at what’s already there.

Every meaningful commitment needs room. If the plan only works when you’re well rested, nobody needs anything, and the week goes perfectly, give it another look.

Build a plan that can live in your actual household, your actual work, your actual life.

Leave some breathing room. You’ll need it.

A Word to Carry

There’s one more practice I return to each December: choosing a word for the year.

In 2023, mine was Honor. In 2024, Kindness. In 2025, Explore. This year, it’s been Rhythm.

I don’t know my word for 2027 yet. I’m still listening.

Each word gives me something to return to when I get distracted. A small question I can carry into a meeting, a difficult conversation, or an ordinary afternoon.

This year, it’s been: What rhythm can I sustain and still be present for the people I love?

I’m still learning the answer.

Take a walk. Leave your phone behind. Ask yourself:

What quality needs more room in the way I live?

Give the answer time. Try a word on. See whether it has something to teach you.

Before January

Six years of writing this letter, and I’m still learning how to practice it.

I still get ahead of myself. Still fill space that might have been better left open. Still need reminding that the people I love experience my priorities through the time and attention I give them.

Maybe that’s why I keep coming back.

We change. Our families change. The work changes. Something that fit a few years ago may need to be set down with gratitude.

And something we’ve barely noticed may be ready for our care.

October to reflect. November to dream. December to plan.

Start with nine quiet minutes and the truth of the year you’ve lived.

There’s still time to pay attention.

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STEVE KNOX
Stewardship Advisor to Founders, CEOs & Family Businesses
^{steveknox.us | Enduring Companies Are Built Twice.}