I think the beginning of January can be one of the saddest times of the year. The holidays are over, you’re several pounds heavier (probably), and life slows back down into the mind numbing repetition of work, home, and sleep. I spent a lot of yesterday contemplating this as I packed away the last of the Christmas decorations and gazed around my barren living room. My husband even noticed the difference; he commented on how empty things looked, which was a little freaky because he said it literally at the same moment I was thinking it. He does that sometimes; he’s either a mind reader or we’re only a few anniversaries away from being that couple who always filters the world through the “we” (i.e. we like the take out from this place best; we are going to read that book this month). We’ll have to come up with some sort of cutesie melding of our names – perhaps Jandy or Andyanna, I’ll work on it and report back to you later.
The other side of this time of year is the “new beginnings”. All of the resolutions and blank canvases to be made and filled. I usually feel a bit smug because I don’t do any of that until my birthday in March, but there is also the “Shit, I only have 3 months to cross things off my list!” The mental beginning of the end. This year those feelings are intensified by a certain amount of discomfort, dare I say anxiety about the impending close of my 20’s. It has been an intense decade, and the view from the other side isn’t quite what I expected it to be. Good thing I have that extra 3 months to get ready, huh?
Image from here.