Every December, I do something that suggests a level of self-importance I do not, in fact, possess.
This is usually the sort of thing done by people who hit the gym at dawn, count their steps with devotion, and can tell you exactly what they were doing at 11:30 a.m. on a Tuesday. I cannot. And yet, year after year, I sit down and pick a single word, as though it might somehow help steer the next twelve months.
The logic is questionable. The evidence is thin. And yet, irritatingly, it works.
No thunderclaps follow. There are no cinematic montages. The word works quietly. It gives the year a loose centre of gravity. Something to return to when things get noisy, busy, or mildly absurd. A reminder of what I said I cared about, long after January’s enthusiasm has slipped away for a nap.
When motion leaves a trail
Over the years, these words have leaned towards action. They came with energy. Momentum. A faint smell of ambition. They helped me say yes more often. Try things I might otherwise have postponed. Keep moving when stopping felt tempting and the sofa looked persuasive.
Sustained motion, however, leaves a trail.
When you keep moving for long enough, things start piling up. Habits you never chose. Assumptions that arrived quietly and stayed. Ways of working that once made sense and now continue largely out of politeness. Effort slowly replaces direction. Speed starts passing for clarity.
That is usually when the browser freezes.
An image that complicated things
For a few years now, there is a small tradition in our house. My daughter designs the image for my Word of the Year. I usually nod approvingly and say something suitably thoughtful, as though I understand art at a deeper level than I actually do.
This year, I raised my eyebrows.
The image did not explain itself. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t urging me forward. It simply sat there, colourful, poised, quietly confident. The sort of image that doesn’t chase you down, but waits patiently for you to notice.
I lived with it for a while.
Clearing the screen
As the year wound down, a few things started knocking. Politely at first. Then with mild persistence.
Direction, for one. It hadn’t gone missing. It just hadn’t been checked. Like a car that still runs fine but insists on drifting slightly left unless you keep both hands on the wheel. Rhythm too. The pace I had slipped into was busy, efficient, and strangely exhausting for something that was meant to be sustainable. Relationships made an appearance as well. Not dramatically. More like a WhatsApp message that simply says, “Are you around?”
A few beliefs needed air. Some assumptions needed sunlight. They had been sitting around for years, like unused suitcases in the loft. Perfectly intact. Slightly dusty. Quietly deciding things without being consulted.
This felt like maintenance. Clearing the screen. Checking the compass again. Making sure the wheels were still aligned. Resetting the rhythm I actually want, not the one that crept in while I was busy and congratulating myself on being productive.
The same thing showed up with people. Some relationships had grown easily, like plants that do fine if you remember to water them. Others had thinned out despite sincere messages and ambitious plans to “catch up soon.” A few survived mainly on shared history and the occasional forwarded article. What mattered here was simple. Attention. Listening properly. Staying long enough to notice what had changed.
Then there were actions and beliefs. Some still worked. Others were just familiar, like tools you keep using because they’re already in your hand. Telling the difference took time. Familiarity, it turns out, is very good at pretending to be truth.
And then the word arrived
It took longer than usual this year.
Perhaps because it wasn’t trying to impress. Perhaps because it didn’t arrive with urgency. When it finally settled, it felt obvious in hindsight.
The word is Refresh.
Quietly practical. Calmly demanding.
It holds direction, relationships, actions, beliefs, and assumptions in the same frame. It suggests care without panic. Change without theatrics. Movement with better bearings.
Why this word, this year
Refresh feels different from earlier words. It is quieter. Less performative. Slightly suspicious of urgency. Chosen with care.
The ambition is still there. It simply wants clearer sightlines.
My daughter’s image arrived at this conclusion before I did. It made me pause first and think later. That feels about right.
So Refresh is my word for 2026.
It serves as a reminder. To pause. To look again. To clean the lens before moving on.
Sometimes, the most useful thing you can do is stop clicking harder and simply hit refresh.
And if that doesn’t work, at least you can say you waited long enough to mean it.