Hibernation

Or: out with the old, in with the new; wake me when it's February

This is… weird.

I don’t think I’ve ever sat to write my newsletter before and stared at the screen for more than five minutes before something clicked. Nothing is clicking; it’s January.

Happy New Year!!

I hope all your dreams come true and that you’re holding strong to your resolutions (if you believe in those)!

I love new years. Love new beginnings.

Unfortunately, my new year has always started in the Spring. I’m born in the Spring so a new year for me literally begins then, but Januaries always leave me feeling so… blah.

There’s always this pressure to have it together, or at least be close to it, in January. And while I’m not one to fold under pressure—I’ve never done something unless I actively wanted to do it—the world feels more tense during this time.

Jokes aren’t funny anymore. Lingering looks are interpreted as something negative. Even the kindest souls are on edge, waiting for a moment to attack.

It’s weird.

It’s understandable.

New years bring a lot of pressure. And worse of all, you’re expected to reinvent yourself, somehow. As if the personality, body, functions you existed with and within for the past three hundred and sixty-five days (three-hundred-sixty-five days and a quarter for technicities; three-hundred-sixty-six for last year) wasn’t good enough.

It’s that passive aggressive way of telling you: yeah, you were good. You got through the year when the year was trying to end you. But… you could be better.

I’m starting the year positive. I swear. Just gimme a minute.

I hate the standstill moment found in Januaries.

I hate knowing that the world is holding its breath, wondering when the other shoe will drop.

I hate that we’ve conditioned ourselves to think the first thirty-one days of the year will determine how the year goes.

But I absolutely love new years.

There’s nothing quite like seeing the clock reset. Knowing you made it through a year, you gained new experiences, you’re wiser to bring those into new situations.

Nothing like looking back and realizing maybe that previous thing wasn’t that deep or that you underexpressed yourself previously and are owed a crash out now. Knowing you get a chance to do it again. To do it with intention this time. To do it with a smile because you’ve been here before.

Januaries are for keeping your head down and literally touching grass (even if there’s a mountain of snow where the grass in your yard should be).

It’s a reset. The perfect time for rest. Sure, it’s for shedding. But more importantly, it’s for holding onto the things that matter and the only way you know what matters is by examining the personality, body and functions you had the year before.

I’m doing my own sort of hibernating this month—underneath all the other things I’m doing—but my January hope for you is that you’re kind to yourself this month.

While you can’t reinvent yourself in the span of thirty-one days, you can add onto what you already had. What you had got you through the previously twelve months; the remaining eleven deserves a version of you that didn’t burn out trying to be everything at once.

Thanks for reading,

Ash