Winter – untypicable.

Why January Is a Terrible Month for Self-Improvement

AJ Wright — Thu, 15 Jan 2026 10:00:00 +0000

It’s 15 January, which means we’ve officially reached that magical point in the calendar known as Resolution Failure Fortnight.

This is the period where we all quietly abandon the ambitious New Year versions of ourselves — the ones who meal-prepped quinoa, set six alarms for morning runs, and downloaded language apps with names like LinguaLion — and revert to the more realistic baseline model: a human being who eats carbs in winter and doesn’t want to learn Spanish in the dark.

I am not judging. I am simply reporting from the field.

The Ritual of January Delusion

Every year, without fail, I witness (and participate in) the same ceremony:

31 December: “New Year, New Me! I will transform! I will drink water! I will sort my paperwork!”

15 January: “How many days does cheese keep?”

My gym app thinks I’ve died. My smartwatch has stopped encouraging me and has adopted the tone of a disappointed uncle. Duolingo has emailed three times to check I’m “safe and well”.

Future Me — the one who will supposedly wake up at 5am, jog in the frost, learn Italian, and master spreadsheets — is a hallucination. Present Me is cold, tired, and still wearing Christmas socks.

The Psychology Bit (But Fun)

We do this because humans love the idea of temporal personality upgrades.

We believe in Future Us — a taller, calmer, more organised subspecies who meal preps on Sundays and has opinions on storage solutions.

But here’s the catch: Future Us has the same brain as Present Us, just slightly older and more disappointed.

If we were serious about improvement, we’d schedule it for April. April has sunlight. April has warmth. April doesn’t ask you to become a better person while you’re scraping ice off your car at 7:43am.

January Is Hostile Territory

Let’s talk about conditions.

January is objectively the worst month for any kind of self-improvement. It is a post-Christmas emotional hangover mixed with weather that feels like punishment.

Consider the data:

Daylight lasts fourteen minutes. On a good day.
Everyone is poor, ill, or both.
The heating bill arrives and no one is emotionally ready.
The sky hasn’t been blue since mid-November.
Vegetables taste like damp cardboard.

Self-help books talk about discipline. Self-help books do not talk about DEFRA grit shortages.

The Resolution Graveyard

By mid-January, most resolutions have either died or gone into witness protection.

“Eat healthier” collapses the moment someone brings biscuits to work.

“Exercise more” dies when you realise it’s dark, raining, and the gym smells like determination and damp socks.

“Learn a language” ends when Duolingo asks you to conjugate something.

I once tried to learn French in January. It lasted until I discovered past participles, at which point I decided bilingualism was for warmer climates.

“Be organised” fails when you buy a fancy planner, write two inspiring sentences, and then spend the rest of the year using it as a coaster.

“Drink less” doesn’t survive the first Thursday because sometimes it’s Thursday.

“Save money” dies immediately after the MOT.

“Be a better person” is far too vague to implement, especially in traffic.

The Seasonal Mismatch Problem

Here’s the actual issue: we schedule self-improvement for the exact moment the environment is least compatible with change.

January is built for soup, blankets, mild hibernation, and complaining about condensation.

It is not built for transcendence.

There’s a reason bears don’t do Personal Growth in winter. They go to sleep, which is arguably the most successful wellness strategy in nature.

If bears did New Year’s resolutions, they’d do them in spring:

“Eat more berries, be less grumpy, stop fighting bins.”

Not: “Run 5km in hail, stop comfort eating, reinvent personality.”

The Case for April

I propose a radical alternative: the April Resolution.

April has:

sunlight past 5pm
temperatures above “miserable”
functioning humans in the parks
fruit that tastes like fruit
marginally improved national morale

Motivation is not a moral quality. It is a seasonal resource.

In January, motivation is at a seasonal low, like blackberries or public happiness.

In April, motivation spikes because our bodies stop experiencing constant betrayal from the weather.

Studies (conducted by me, in my kitchen) show that self-improvement increases by 70% in conditions where daylight exists.

The Important Part: You Didn’t Fail

If you’ve abandoned your resolutions already, congratulations.

That doesn’t make you weak-willed. It makes you correctly calibrated for winter.

The calendar is an arbitrary human invention. There is no moral authority that says self-improvement must begin in the darkest, coldest, most bankrupt month of the year.

You don’t need a date. You need daylight and snacks.

Perhaps the only resolution worth keeping in January is:

“Be slightly kinder to yourself than last year.”

If you manage that, then you’re already ahead of schedule.

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AJ Wright

AJ Wright is a quiet yet incisive voice navigating the surreal world of sociology, higher education, and modern life through the unique lens of a neurodivergent mind. A tech-savvy PhD student hailing from South Yorkshire but now stationed in the flatlands of Lincolnshire, AJ writes with an irreverence that strips back the layers of academia, social norms, and the absurdities of daily life to reveal the humour lurking beneath.

As an autistic thinker, AJ’s perspective offers readers a rare blend of precision, curiosity, and wit. From dissecting the unspoken rituals of academia—like the silent war over the office thermostat—to exploring the sociology of “neurotypical small talk” and the bizarre hierarchies of campus coffee queues, AJ turns the ordinary into something both profound and hilarious.

AJ’s unassuming nature belies the sharpness of their commentary, which dives deep into the intersections of neurodiversity, tech culture, and the often-overlooked quirks of human behaviour. Whether questioning why university bureaucracy feels designed by Kafka or crafting surreal parodies of academic peer reviews, AJ writes with a balance of quiet intensity and playful absurdity that keeps readers coming back for more.

For those seeking a blog that is equal parts insightful, irreverent, and refreshingly authentic, AJ Wright provides a unique perspective that celebrates neurodiversity while poking fun at the peculiarities of the world we live in. Also a contributor at Thinking Sociologically.

untypicable.co.uk

Snow Way! The Great British Panic Over a Light Dusting

AJ Wright — Mon, 18 Nov 2024 18:00:00 +0000

Ah, snow. That rarest of British phenomena. A mere whisper of white flakes in the air, and the nation collectively loses its mind. Schools are closed, bread aisles are empty, and Facebook lights up with blurry photos captioned “It’s snowing!!!” as if we’ve all forgotten what frozen water looks like. No other weather event brings out Britain’s unique blend of hysteria, wonder, and passive-aggressive grumbling quite like snow.

Let’s unpack the great British snow drama.

1. The Five Stages of British Snow Grief

Denial
“It won’t stick.” The optimistic (read: delusional) mantra of office workers staring out of rain-streaked windows, refusing to accept that their commute might take three hours tonight.
Panic
The moment a single flake touches the ground, chaos ensues. Motorways grind to a halt, corner shops are stripped of milk, and middle managers email “Work from home if you can!” before fleeing the office like it’s the apocalypse.
Overreaction
Councils unleash 47 gritters on roads that are still bone dry. School administrators cancel lessons for three days, “just in case.” Someone inevitably buys snow chains for their Vauxhall Corsa.
Blame
“Why don’t we ever prepare for this?” cry the same people who complained about council tax increases last year. Suddenly, the lack of snow ploughs in Britain—a country that gets snow three days a year—is a national scandal.
Acceptance
By the time the snow turns into brown sludge, we’ve all resigned ourselves to slipping on icy pavements and wearing wellies to Tesco.

2. The Overzealous Snow Photographer

The second snow falls, social media transforms into a flurry of mediocre photography. Grainy snapshots of gardens and driveways flood your timeline, captioned with phrases like “Winter wonderland!” or the very original “Let it snow!” Bonus points if someone uploads a picture of their car covered in snow with the wipers sticking up like awkward antennae.

And let’s not forget the artistic types who venture into the local park to photograph branches with a sprinkling of frost. Calm down, David Attenborough—it’s not Narnia.

3. Snow Days: Britain’s National Holiday

Nothing sparks joy in Britain quite like a snow day. It’s the ultimate jackpot for school children—a full day of sledging, snowball fights, and wet socks. For adults, it’s an excuse to “work from home,” which loosely translates to answering one email while binge-watching Netflix in pyjamas.

Of course, some overachievers attempt to soldier on. They’re the ones who insist on driving to work at 10 mph with their hazard lights on, causing a traffic jam that stretches to the next county.

4. The Great Grit Bin Mystery

Britain has a fascinating relationship with grit bins. These mysterious yellow boxes appear every winter, filled with the promise of traction and stability. Yet no one actually knows how to use them. Are we supposed to bring our own shovel? Can we take grit for our driveway? Or is it strictly for council use?

One thing’s certain: at least one local hero will post on the neighbourhood Facebook group accusing someone of “stealing grit,” complete with a blurry CCTV screenshot of a man in a parka holding a bucket.

5. Snow and British Transport: A Love-Hate Relationship

Despite knowing snow exists, British transport systems act like it’s an alien invasion. Trains are delayed for “unexpected snowfall,” buses vanish into the ether, and Heathrow cancels 97% of its flights.

Meanwhile, the humble pedestrian faces the ultimate challenge: the ungritted pavement. No British winter is complete without the sight of someone performing an unintentional figure skating routine on black ice while clutching a bag of Tesco’s Finest mince pies.

6. The Snowman Arms Race

Building a snowman isn’t just a fun winter activity—it’s a competitive sport. Forget Frosty the Snowman; today’s snow sculptures feature carrot noses, designer scarves, and Instagram-ready poses. Some parents even use food dye to add extra pizzazz, turning their snowman into a creepy multicoloured nightmare.

And woe betide anyone who doesn’t participate. The judgemental stares from neighbours when your garden remains snowman-free are almost as cutting as the icy wind.

7. The Inevitable British Grumble

Once the initial excitement wears off, the nation shifts into peak grumbling mode. “It’s all very pretty, but it’s a nuisance, isn’t it?” becomes the stock phrase of the season. By day two, everyone is united in their hatred of snow: the inconvenience, the cold, the way it ruins your shoes.

And yet, when the snow melts and life returns to normal, there’s always a faint sense of disappointment. We complain, but deep down, we kind of love the drama.

8. The “It’s Only a Few Flakes” Brigade

No British snow day would be complete without that person on social media. You know the one: the self-appointed weather realist who insists, “It’s only a few flakes, calm down!” while everyone else is sliding sideways down the high street.

This individual takes great pride in downplaying the drama, usually from the comfort of their sofa while sipping tea. They’ll post smug updates like, “Back in my day, we walked to school in a blizzard,” as though they’ve personally conquered Everest in flip-flops.

What they fail to realise is that we like the chaos. It’s not about the snow itself; it’s about the collective overreaction. Let us panic-buy bread and take blurry snow photos in peace. After all, what’s the point of British snow if we can’t over-dramatise it?

9. When Snow Is Gone but Not Forgotten

The aftermath of snow lingers in more ways than one. Icy pavements continue to claim unsuspecting victims, snowmen become pitiful lumps of dirty ice, and for some reason, the council keeps grit bins on the streets until April.

And, of course, the snow photos will resurface on social media with captions like “Remember this?!” as though we all collectively forgot the chaos of three weeks ago.

The Magic of British Snow

Despite the overreactions, the panic, and the endless grumbling, there’s something undeniably magical about snow in Britain. Maybe it’s because it’s so rare, or maybe it’s because it gives us an excuse to collectively lose our minds for a few days. Either way, snow isn’t just weather—it’s an event.

So, here’s to you, British snow. You make us laugh, cry, and panic-buy milk. Never change.