Intensity: 2026

In 2026, I want to do less 

For most of our lives, we are taught to be flexible.
Adaptable. Composable. Open to change.

And to be fair, those qualities matter. They help us survive uncertainty. They keep us relevant in fast-moving systems. They make us resilient when life resists cooperation.

But somewhere along the way, flexibility ceased to be a tool and became a default posture.
And defaults, when left unexamined, quietly run your life.

In 2025, nothing broke dramatically.
There was no collapse. No visible failure. A few moments that forced an immediate reset.

And that, in hindsight, was the problem.

I moved. I built. I showed up.
Work progressed. Decisions were made. Systems evolved.

Yet too often, I left room for retreat>> room for "later," room for "maybe," room for revisiting what should have been settled firmly. Not because I lacked discipline, but because I over-trusted flexibility.

Flexibility felt responsible.
It felt mature.
It felt safe

However, it gradually revealed its cost.
An uncomfortable truth: when flexibility is no longer anchored to conviction, it becomes avoidance. When everything is adjustable, nothing is truly owned.

There are areas of life where flexibility is wisdom.
And there are areas where flexibility is abdication.

In complex systems, this is obvious.
Too much flexibility without constraint introduces chaos. Undefined boundaries produce noise, not progress. You get movement, but no direction: activity, but no convergence.

Life works the same way.
Modern life rewards diffusion: many roles, many inputs, many parallel paths. We're encouraged to stay open, keep options alive, and avoid finality. The result is motion without compression: being busy without being committed.

That mindset doesn't stop at work or ambition. It shows up in how we approach people, too. Optionality serves as a proxy for safety; depth is deferred until certainty is attained.

But clarity rarely emerges in environments designed to keep everything provisional. Without compression, nothing settles.

Without choice, nothing deepens.
It becomes easy to stay productive while postponing clarity. Easy to execute while delaying the irreversible choices that give a life its shape.

Over time, that delay creates quite a pressure.
Clarity postponed does not disappear. It accumulates.

By the end of 2025, one truth was hard to ignore: Flexibility had become heavier than discipline.
That realisation reframed how I see the year ahead.

My word for 2026 is Intensity.

Not intensity as aggression, urgency, or noise.
But intensity as a gauge: a way of applying deliberate pressure to move things decisively and do less.

Intensity is not about doing more.
It is about doing fewer things fully.

It is choosing baseline convictions that are not subject to constant renegotiation. Fixed points around which flexibility can operate responsibly.

Because flexibility is only valid when something is non-negotiable.

Intensity brings weight back into decision-making.
It collapses ambiguity.
It forces less.

This does not come without cost.

Intensity removes the comfort of optionality.
It closes doors that once felt reassuring to keep open.
It makes positions legible: first to yourself, then to others.

Some people will misread that clarity as rigidity.
Others will feel unsettled by it.

That's fine.
Intensity is not obsession.

It knows when to rest.
But it never forgets what it serves.

For me, 2026 is about Intensive compression.

Doing less, on purpose.
Reducing the operational surface area of my focus across work, relationships, faith, and life.
Applying sustained attention where it actually compounds.
Not more motion. More weight.

But more difficult decisions.

That is the shift.

Question for you
What is the one irreversible choice you are delaying because you've over-trusted your ability to be flexible? Commit to the compression.