Dear January

A snapshot of tonight’s restless thoughts - 1.8.24

I am nostalgic for a time of which I am unfamiliar. There's this weird stillness of January that makes time feel stuck in a perpetual loop. When I'm driving down my street, glancing the snow-capped houses, catching the quick view overlooking the city below, it seems so old. The haze cast over everything makes me feel as if I'm traveling through time. Suddenly it’s the 1960s or 1970s, and everything feels familiar but not real.

January is a time for new beginnings and transformation, so why does it always feel more like an end? Maybe it's the looming threat of months of cold that make everything feel more insurmountable than ever before.

I think about death. I think about stagnancy. I want to go in reverse, the future seems too scary and uncertain. I can't think of spring or summer, I can only think of the perennial now, a now of endless cold and snow and despair. I want to go backwards, to a simpler time. But is it my time or someone else’s? I want to be cozy but it seems impossible without the magic of the holidays in the air. Dreary, everything is just so dreary.

I think about my grandfather's death. One year ago in just two weeks time. I wasn't thinking of my grandfather's death at this time last year, I didn't know how soon it was coming. I can't predict the future to see what the new year has in store for me, just a I couldn't last year. This comforts me as much as it scares me.

I'm cold. I'm sick. I'm hormonal. I'm stuck. January is just another month, but it feels endless. Unforgiving. Unrepentant.

February marks the month of my birth, the more these markers rack up the less excited I get about them. February also marks Valentine's Day. Maybe it will be special this time, maybe we'll take a cheese-making class and dip fruits in chocolate. Valentine's Day is also Ash Wednesday. Our dinner will be meatless and our vices in check. Maybe we'll keep it simple. Maybe it will be cozy, though the magic of Valentine's Day doesn't compare to Christmas.

March is my least favorite month, its only savior being that spring is hiding just behind it's broad shoulders and relentlessly gusty air. Spring will be here soon enough, but I'm getting too ahead of myself.

I sit at home watching a classic film. A jazzy '50s or ‘60s NY joint about a witch and Jimmy Stewart. I've never seen this film, I'm surprised at how many classic movies I haven't seen. I watched so many with my grandmother I lost count, but I fell off over time, especially without her. I've made a commitment to watch more of them, my own personal way of traveling through time.

January feels like the 1970s. But I was born near the end of the '80s, so what do I know?

Snow has a way of making you feel like a child again, but its rewards aren't worth reaping anymore. But the bite against my nose and the marshmallow world it creates makes me feel alive even when I feel like I’m barely living.

I want to start over. I want to start fresh. I want to be a new me.

...maybe in February. In January, I mostly just want to get under the covers and sleep, dream of another time, and another place.