Thanks, Jan. You’re Alright, I Guess.
an ode to the least-loved of month of the year
I love January. Or rather, I should say I’ve come to love January. I haven’t always appreciated this first month of the year, but I do now.
I get why people don’t like January. I used to be one of them. Being the follow-up act to The Holidays is a tough gig. Especially when your performance is frigid grey, sunless days and plummeting temperatures (in the Northern Hemisphere anyway). Not exactly a crowd pleaser, if you catch my (snow)drift.
But I love Jan (we’re on a nickname basis now). Jan clears the schedule of weird obligatory parties with people you wouldn’t normally choose to “go to a party” with. Jan takes down the decorations and packs them neatly in interlocking storage bins. Jan buys you a new planner and a box of smart black pens to go with it. Jan says, “You can start over again. Isn’t that exciting!?”. Jan will act like she’s all business but then throw in a sparkly, chaotic snow day and dare you to play out in it with your kids. I like Jan.
Now, it’s not all planner-joy and de-cluttered days. Jan(uary) can be difficult too. Sometimes we have miscommunications. She doesn’t see the need to drench every day sunlight. I shake my fist at the sky and nothing changes until the end of the day when she dazzles me with a sunset so beautiful I run outside to try to capture it forever. While I’m standing out there shivering and using my phone’s camera to preserve the beauty (it never does this properly), January chuckles, “See? I got you to come outside after all. Aren’t you glad?” I begrudgingly agree from the depths of my giant winter coat. Eventually, I march back in—usually after a long walk with my dog—to curl up with a book. Going outside in the cold and then coming in to rest is kind of Jan’s whole deal. After all this time, I’ve warmed up to the idea. (pun intended)
And I haven’t even gotten to January’s food yet. January likes potato soup and crusty bread slathered in butter. January likes brown sugar lattes made with steamed oat milk. January likes broccoli, brussels sprouts, baby carrots, garlic and onion salted, tossed in oil and roasted for 50 min in the oven at 400 degrees. January likes when you pull the crispy, caramelized veggies out, dump them in a giant bowl and squeeze fresh lemon on them. January suggests serving them on steaming, buttered rice with your favorite protein. January says, “Make yourself a batch of biscuits, a batch of chocolate chip cookies, a batch of sourdough bread.” She reminds me to boil some tortellini and ravish it with pesto sauce. January told me there’s a lot of comfort found in toast eaten after the kids fall asleep. She’s right.
January still isn’t my favorite month and she’s ok with that. She doesn’t need to be anyone’s favorite. She’s still going to keep showing up because she knows her value and what she brings to the table. Namely, empty planners fresh with anticipation and the goal-seed planting of a future 365 days. January isn’t about growing and harvesting, January is about reflecting, asking good questions and courageously, quietly moving forward.
The world may be frozen and bleak, but January wouldn’t describe it that way. She’d get a little cheesy and say, “Is it bleak? Or a blank page? Is everything frozen or is everything being freed up to rest and reset?” And that’s when I cringe inwardly a bit and reply, “Isn’t it kind of all of that at the same time?”. Jan knows I’m right.
I’m resting and resetting at January’s invitation. It’s a process that doesn’t come naturally to me. I’ve learned this skill thanks to January. As much as I’ve tried to deny it over the years, cold and barren days are a necessary part of the natural rhythms we need in life. January’s beauty is stark, commanding, even brutal at times, but her beauty remains nonetheless.
This week January dropped an unexpected gift at our house: 10 inches of luxurious snow. Most people would tell you snow is white. In the last four days January has shown me how, just before sunrise, the snow turns blue. And when the sun is going down it’s rose-petal pink. And just now when I took my dog out for one last walk, our porch light had turned the drifts the softest shade of shimmering peach. People say snow is just boring white. January says, “Shut up and watch this.”
We’ve been playing in the snow all week. Our laundry room looks like a ski/snowboard rental shop (and kind of smells like one too). I keep hanging up everything in the hopes it’ll be dry before the next time January flings open the door and tells us to get out there. Yes, she knows it’s cold. “Make sure you wear a hat. Make sure you double layer your wool socks. Make sure you don’t forget what it feels like to play.”
And yet, for all I've said about January here, I won’t be sad to see her go. To be honest, she won’t be sad to leave. She’s got other plans because Jan always has a plan (and, as we know, loves cheesy rhyming schemes). She’ll do the good work of helping us to slow down and be productive all at once. She’ll help us let go and start over and remind us on her way out that we have permission to do that absolutely anytime of the year. “Silly, did you think you can only start a new goal when I’m around?! Puhleease.”
January comes around to teach us that we can start fresh anytime. Then, she leaves so we can put her lessons into practice. January isn’t going to hold our hand all year. January shows up to do her work and expects us to do the same.
I’ve come a long way from when I used to dread January. Now I welcome her arrival and welcome her departure; thanking her for the lessons in resilience, grace and joy she’s brought me every year. Thanks, Jan. You’re alright, I guess.
What has January taught you?
Brea, this is so clever and so, so true. I loved reading how you’ve been shifting your attitude toward Jan. Right now, I’m reading A Woman in the Polar Night and it is the perfect January book!
You've given me a new appreciation for January on this 13 degree (feels like -10!) day. My dogs are both sleeping on my lap and the wind is howling and I can hear branches cracking and snapping in the woods surrounding our house. Maybe I'll make some roasted vegetables over buttered rice today:)