The Other Reset Button

Picture This: The school supplies aisle. Crayons and markers. Colorful plastic folders. Spiral notebooks. Three-ring binders. Rulers. Pens. I did not need any of it. I bought it anyway. I stood there longer than a grown woman probably should, and I let myself feel exactly what I felt at eight years old: possibility, excitement, curiosity.

The Wider Lens

It feels like we have agreed, without ever actually voting on it, that January is the reset button. New year, new goals, new version of yourself, all timed to a date that has nothing to do with how change actually happens inside a person or a company.

But sit with September for a minute. The light changes first. Then the air. Then, if you have ever worked in an office, an inbox that suddenly has a “let’s get next year on the calendar” email in it while summer has not technically ended. For years, I treated that email as an intrusion. Summer is not over. Let me finish.

Here is what I have finally admitted. It is not an intrusion. It is my favorite part.

That feeling I had in the school supplies aisle never actually left. It just changed shape. Now it shows up as a new strategy session. An idea that has not been tested yet. A client I have not pitched, but cannot stop thinking about. Everyone talks about January as the reset. Mine has always lived in September.

I think most of us are living by a reset button we did not choose. We inherited it, the way we inherit most timelines, and we never questioned whether it actually fits how we work, how we grow, how we lead. The calendar says January. Your actual momentum says something else entirely, and it rarely announces itself. You all know I love a sunset. You are waiting and then it just arrives. The colors change. Minute by minute. All at once and yet, not at all at once. You cannot point to the exact moment it started or when it ends.

Three Things I Learned

One. A reset is a feeling, not a date. The date is just the excuse we give ourselves to finally act on a feeling that may have been building for weeks/months/years.

Two. Possibility and obligation can look identical from the outside. A new notebook. A new strategy session. A next-year planning email. The difference is not the thing itself. It is whether it feels like pressure or ideas waiting to blossom.

Three. Momentum is invisible while it is happening. You rarely feel the exact second something shifts. You only notice it later when you reflect and realize the needle has moved.

The Wondering

What could be different if you picked a different month than January to hit the reset button?

I do not think this is really about crayons, or notebooks, or September. I think it is about permission. Permission to begin again whenever the feeling shows up, instead of filing it away for “someday” or beginning when someone else tells you its time.

Give It Five Minutes

Before you keep scrolling, sit with one question.

If you gave yourself permission to reset today, not in January, what would you actually start?

Do not answer quickly. The real answer rarely arrives on the first pass.

My Intention

I am going to keep buying crayons. Not because I don’t need them (well, I do still like to color), but because they remind me of possibility. Color within the lines. Great. Color outside the lines. Great. Hold on to creativity before obligation buries it. During the next thirty days, that transition from summer to fall, my intention is to stop waiting for permission. The reset button is not in January. It is whenever you decide to press it.

With curiosity,

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