Updated: Oct 23, 2021
January is a tough month, one that seems to lose its purpose after its first day. Growing up in an Italian-American household, we at least were able to hold onto Christmas until January 6th–the feast of the Epiphany (i.e., when the Wise Men actually made it to the manger). But this year, it seems a lot of people were ready to be done with Christmas before then. I saw a lot of trees–including our own–dragged to the curb way before that, many people proudly declaring on 26th that they were over the holiday and officially eradicated it from their homes.
The days after New Year's are always the worst–weeks of celebration and anticipation finally completely exhausted, reality inevitably forced back on us. I feel like I’ve lived a thousand months in the past 2 weeks, and every day I’m more surprised that it’s still only the beginning/middle of the month.
I’m looking forward to February–even more excited for March. I just kind of feel like the next few weeks are going to seem like a lull before life officially picks back up again. Not that it’s been slow at all–I actually did more socializing the past few weeks than I did during the holidays–but I just kind of feel like right now is about laying the groundwork. A part of me is excited about that; a part of me is impatient.
I guess I’m painfully optimistic that this year will be a good year–Like, a really good year. I’m ready to bust outta my shell even more. I’m ready to take even more risks. I’m ready to start settling down and focusing on The Plan. But for now, I’m gearing up for these revelations–for now I’m prepping myself for the good things to come. I am cultivating myself, I’m waiting patiently until the time is right to bloom.
For now, I am winter.