(You can find all the work of Rascal Zurfluh at https://zimplicity.org/.)

The story of the observations of a trusted confidant of a retired school leader.

The holidays are over. The decorations have been packed away, the suitcases unpacked (mostly), and the last of the celebratory treats have mysteriously disappeared. I know this because my master has returned to his familiar habit of reading school updates with a thoughtful expression—and because the house smells less like cinnamon and more like coffee again.

December, for schools, is often remembered fondly: concerts, celebrations, winter breaks, and the collective exhale that comes with reaching the midpoint of the year. But from my vantage point on the rug beside my master’s chair, I’ve learned that what happens after the holidays may matter even more than what came before.

January, you see, is not a fresh start for everyone. For some, it’s the most difficult stretch of the year.

The Quiet Challenge of “After”

New families and newly arrived staff often arrive buoyed by adrenaline. Everything feels possible in August. The adventure is exciting, the move feels bold, and the school year begins with optimism and goodwill.

Then comes the first long holiday.

I’ve watched this pattern repeat itself year after year. Families travel “home”—or try to. Staff members return to places that now feel familiar and foreign at the same time. Children see old friends, extended family, and the rooms they once called their own. And then, just as quickly, they are back on a plane, returning to a country that still doesn’t quite feel like theirs.

This is the moment when the weight of transition finally lands.

January is when the question quietly forms: Can we really do this?

The Pivot Point of International Life

In international schools, January is a pivot point. It’s the moment when short-term adventure either becomes long-term belonging—or quietly unravels.

I’ve seen it happen. Students who seemed confident in October suddenly struggle. Teachers who were energetic in the fall appear more withdrawn. Parents who smiled easily in September begin asking harder questions.

This isn’t failure. It’s reality.

The shine has worn off. The novelty has faded. And what remains is the need for connection.

My master understood this instinctively. He often said that January mattered more than August—not because of programs or planning, but because of people. This was the season when relationships either deepened or drifted.

And so, he paid attention.

Building What Lasts

January was when my master leaned into relationship-building with quiet intention. He checked in with new staff—not to evaluate, but to listen. He lingered longer in hallways. He noticed who hadn’t quite found their rhythm yet.

From a dog’s point of view, this made perfect sense. Bonds don’t form at the loudest moments; they form in the quiet ones. Trust grows not when everything is exciting, but when things feel ordinary—and sometimes hard.

International schools thrive when January becomes a month of reassurance rather than reinvention.

This is when leaders signal, “You are not alone. We are in this together. And yes—you belong here.”

The Myth of the January Reset

Humans love the idea of a “January reset.” New goals. New systems. New initiatives. But I watched my master resist that temptation. He knew that January wasn’t the time to introduce sweeping change; it was the time to stabilize what already existed.

For new families and staff, stability is kindness.

This doesn’t mean stagnation. It means intentional care. It means prioritizing relationships over reforms, presence over productivity. It means understanding that the most important work of January is often invisible.

A conversation.

A shared laugh.

A reassuring check-in.

A reminder that struggling doesn’t mean failing—it means adapting.

Belonging Is Built After the Break

Belonging is easy to talk about in September. It’s much harder—and far more meaningful—to cultivate in January.

I’ve learned that belonging isn’t confirmed when things are going well. It’s confirmed when people are tired, homesick, or unsure—and still feel seen.

My master used to say that January was when international schools quietly decide who stays. Not through contracts or policies, but through culture. Through whether people feel supported enough to keep going.

I saw students who nearly left find their footing because one adult noticed them at the right moment. I saw teachers decide to stay for years because they felt genuinely cared for during that difficult winter stretch. I saw families choose to put down roots because the school didn’t just educate their children—it held their humanity.

A Word for Leaders

If you’re a Head of School reading this in January, here’s Rascal’s advice:

• Slow down when others expect you to speed up.
• Listen when answers feel easier.
• Stabilize before you innovate.
• And remember that your presence matters more than your plans.

This is not the month to prove your leadership. It’s the month to practice it.

The relationships you nurture now will carry your community through the rest of the year—and often, through many years beyond.

Closing Thoughts

From my place beside my master, I’ve learned that the most important leadership moments rarely come with applause. They come quietly, after the holidays, when the excitement has faded and the work becomes real.

January asks a simple but profound question of every international school: Will we take care of one another when it’s hardest to do so?

If the answer is yes, everything else tends to follow.

And if you’re feeling a bit tired as you read this—well, that just means you’re human. Take a walk. Check in with someone new. Sit a little longer with someone who seems unsure.

Trust me. That’s how lasting communities are built.

Until next time,

Rascal