Every January, hundreds of millions of people make resolutions though most are gone by February. The problem is almost never just the goals themselves. It is the approach.
The Janus Plan: A No-Resolutions Path to Begin Your Year with Intention (Weaving Influence Press) begins from a simple premise that you cannot design sustainable goals or a meaningful future without first taking an honest look at your actual past. Not a highlight reel. Not a catalog of regrets. An honest accounting of what the year behind you was really trying to teach you about what is working, what has quietly stopped working, and what you have been carrying forward out of habit rather than intention. That brutal honest backward look is the step most goal-setting systems skip entirely. It is also the step that makes everything that follows more durable.
The book is named for Janus, the Roman god of thresholds, doorways, and transitions. He had two faces: one looking backward, one looking forward, simultaneously. He was invoked before all other Roman gods, even before Jupiter, Mars, or anyone else. The Romans understood that you cannot approach anything meaningful without first honoring the threshold you are crossing. That instinct is the foundation of this book.
The framework has six steps: Ponder the Past; Frame the Future; Nudge the Now; Clean and Clear; Revel in Ritual; Revisit and Reignite. They are designed to be done in sequence, though they can be entered at any point depending on where a reader is in the year. The book works for individuals, couples, families, and teams. It works in January. It works in July. It works whenever someone finds themselves at a threshold and wants to cross it with intention rather than inertia.
The central metaphor is weaving. The Janus Plan is not a checklist. It is a loom: a structure for weaving meaning, intention, and action into the fabric of your year. I first encountered this metaphor as a Cub Scout in the Philippines, crafting a traditional woven headband on a manual loom. I remember being captivated by the rhythmic interplay of warp and weft, the quiet focus weaving required, and the satisfaction of watching a pattern appear thread by thread. That early experience planted a seed: the idea that life, too, could be shaped through intentional, patient weaving.
I want readers to read this book slowly. The work it asks of you benefits from space. The exercises and reflection prompts embedded throughout are not optional extras. They are the book.
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