January repose and reverie

Not doing much? Feeling fine about that? Same, same.

In many ways, January feels like the absence of something. It’s akin to silence in an oft-busy family home; nice for a time, but you don’t want too much of it. The holidays are over. The air is cold and the sun is gone. Spring still feels so far away. There’s a sense of new beginnings, but also of pause. We’ll begin anew, sure, but not yet. Perhaps when the sunshine returns. Until then, we find ourselves in repose. Reverie, even, if we’re so fortunate, but often repose. This is fine.

I am an ambitious person who is generally motivated, but I’m also the kind of person who makes quiet plans from the warmth and coziness of my bed. I lie under covers with ideas coming and going. I don’t hit the ground running so much as I step gently, moving along at a comfortable pace, my breath steady and even. At some point, I spring from hibernation and do all the things, but never in January. If I’m not on deadline, you’ll find me reading, making soup, repotting my plants or drawing a bath. I’m puttering rather than pushing forward, lighting candles and eating the last of the chocolates from my Christmas stocking. I sometimes wonder if this is hygge, or at least a decent imitation of the concept. Some bastardized version, probably. I’ve been to Denmark once and learned nothing. (Also, I have a teenage daughter and 12-year-old son, so the peace and warmth of my home is often interrupted by a blast of Taylor Swift, Minecraft or big feelings.)

In any case, I’m keeping busy by not being busier than I need to be. I’m preserving and preparing for a new season while waiting out the cold. Here’s a little taste of my January, should you want to join me.

I’M READING: Sad Irish books, apparently? I just finished Foster by Claire Keegan and Intermezzo by Sally Rooney. There’s also a Colm Tóibín book on my bedside table, but three Irish heart-crushers in a row felt like a bit much, so I picked up a short poetry/prose collection instead. Jenny Slate and Rachel Cusk are on deck. My TBR looms large, as always.

I’M LISTENING TO: Vibes of all kinds, basically. Clare de lune, always. Bags and Sexy to Someone by Clairo. Je te laisserai de mots and How to build a home by Patrick Watson. Vintage Feist. With every heartbeat by Robyn. Leonard Cohen. All of the Lana Del Rey. An alarming amount of Gracie Abrams for a 40-year-old woman.

I’M DOING THIS: Organizing my home office, propagating plants, playing board games with my kids, destroying my husband at Yahtzee, moving art around my house, going to thrift stores, dreaming about travel, thinking quietly, staring at the wall, making lists, setting goals, making plans.

So, that’s January, slow and steady and perfectly fine. I’m not exactly hustling, but I’m feeling good. (Despite all of this, one could add. Because, look! Listen! WTF!?)

Happy New Year to one and all. Take it slow if you want to. Enjoy the sunshine if you see it. The days are getting longer already. We’re almost there.