January Undone

I am miserable today. Existentially miserable. The sort of miserable that feels intolerable – the batten down the hatches just hang on through the storm sort of miserable. And I guess it’s just my turn.

So many people have been talking about being sick and tired of the interminable pandemic –  feeling trapped and stuck and languishing and just so done with the limitations. I’ve been listening to them, but not hearing them or connecting to their feelings. It’s as if they’ve been speaking to me from the other side of a glass wall, and I’ve been waving at them, pointing to my ears to signal “this does not compute,” while I sing loudly and swim around in the coral reefs of my personal aquarium.

Today, their voices broke through the glass, woke me up, and I discovered that my reef is actually a landfill comprised mostly of Amazon boxes and empty Kettle Chip bags.

Omicron and the other annoying Hydra heads of COVID-19 have been plucking at my last nerve, plus it’s January. I hate this month. Maybe it’s just the post holiday belly flop I hate. One moment, the ball drops in Times Square, glasses clink, lips lock, we swing from the chandeliers; then the calendar flips and it’s time to get to work because expectations have set in. Whether I’ve sworn off resolutions or not, the expectation for big change, for long awaited change, for desperately wanted change is still there. Hope hangs onto this fresh start as if it’s a lotto ticket. But, really, it’s just another beginning of an income tax year.

My partner, Reade, and I used to have a practice of writing down our intentions for the new year as December 31st tick-tocked into January 1st. Invariably those intentions involved career success, financial health, home improvements, and desires for our daughter’s well being. Invariably our dreams were bigger than the reality that proved out during the course of the following year. Still, January always felt voluminous with those hopes and expectations and the vim and vigor that would set things into motion. And yet, there were all those decorations to take down and haul to the attic leaving a drab atmosphere. Or, a fresh canvas if I’m in the right frame of mind.

Even so, it’s cold. Pandemic or no, it’s hard to get moving in nose-nipping temps when all bundled up in woolies and down-puffy clothes.  Then there are those hazardous wintery mixes and black ice mornings that make walking to your car treacherous never mind driving. And it’s dark at sunrise – what?!? Sunset happens soon thereafter so there are only a few productive hours each day before it’s time to sidle up to the hearth and binge watch episodics like Yellowstone or Ozark with enough murder and mayhem to dim my personal problems. But even when the sun is out, it’s too bright and glaring and delusional. I feel duped by that light and the sense that I can see a bright future in it that I ought to run to meet, when, actually, the call in January is to go inside. Be still. Listen to the true intentions of my heart.

Breathe. Just breathe. There, that’s better.

They say it’s always darkest before the dawn and it did just dawn on me that I needed that rant. I needed to loosen up my always-looking-for-the-silver-lining corset and release some pandemic angst. Now, my mind is somewhat quiet again. Quiet enough to appreciate a snug home and the gentle silence of the snow outside.

And how are you these days?