Oh, dear January!
Or
Oh dear. January.

Punctuate as you see fit.

I suppose it makes sense that everything I like about January is everything I don’t like about January. The month’s name come from the the Roman god Janus, the god with two faces, protecting gates and doorways, looking into the future and into the past.

I like January because it is the beginning of the year–a time to contemplate where we’ve been and where we hope to go. But isn’t that reason to dislike the month as well? All those people asking about resolutions (that they likely won’t keep), watching home organizing videos (that’s they’ll probably forget), and buying gym memberships (that they’ll stop using)? Yeah, sure. I’ve rolled my eyes a lot over the years at the foolishness. And yet…taking time to evaluate and take stock, clean out a few cabinets, and prioritize health are good goals. I’m not, at heart, a cynic.

I like January because in my half of the world, it’s winter. Now, I don’t live where it snows much (and if it does snow, it’s basically the snowpocalypse), but I’ve stood outside on cold winter nights and looked up into that clear sky to see the sharp brightness of stars. The winter forces us inside to burrow under blankets and eat hot soup. Wintering is quiet and meditative. It’s closeness and solitude. It’s waiting ever hopeful for the beauty of spring. Which is why people hate January too. It’s winter and cold and gray. Trees crack and break and fall. It’s dark early and isolating. It’s depression and gardens look dead. And if you’re unhoused or improperly clothed or lonely, it’s a circle of hell, waiting desperately for the sun and thaw.

I like January because of itself and in spite of itself. I love the sweaters and boots. I dislike the non-stop ads for programs and diets and plans that are going to change my life. How con-artists and tricksters love an important date on the calendar. NOW IS THE TIME! They say. Find out the secrets to success!

But there is no secret. Take the first step on the journey you want to take. Be ready to wander, to wonder, to get lost along the way.

Yesterday, I wasn’t feeling my best about this New Year. C’mon, y’all. There’s a lot to worry about. Of course there is. But again, I am not, at heart, a cynic.

So a local tarot card reader showed up in my social media feed, and instead of talking myself out of it, I threw on my shoes, told Dad I had to run an errand, and I headed over to the coffeeshop. Yeah, yeah. You can say it’s woo and all that. But the reading was perfect. I wasn’t feeling great about things, about my art or my writing. I felt swallowed up by chores and obligations. This wasn’t a reading to tell the future. For me (and sure, ymmv) the cards are a time to stop and focus, to take a deep a breath and use the symbolism and art to see into life. The tarot reader didn’t know my worries or problems or insecurities. But even if you argue that the insights are things probably everyone needs to hear, sure, but yesterday afternoon, I needed to hear them.

Because why?

Because I am not, at heart, a cynic.

(No shade to the cynics. The world needs good grumpy cynics. It just cynics aren’t everything it needs.)

Happy New Year, y’all. Good luck with January. Punctuate as you see fit.

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