A little January sky. At the park the other afternoon.
I’m wondering if someone in charge could rewind the clock so we could begin this year again. Let’s decide collectively that we deserve a “do over.” Say it was a false start. We could just trot back to the starting line, stretch a little, and pretend the last few weeks never happened. Because now we are halfway through January, and I still have not written my 2021 year in review or figured out my word for the year or jotted down my 22 for 2022 list. None of it. Also, the Christmas tree is still up, and the manger scene, and the stockings.
Bother.
I usually love spending time that week after Christmas reflecting on the year that was. It’s lovely! Except this year, the power went out, and also the cell phone service, and three feet of snow fell on the house and street overnight in our town, so we were, as you might imagine, a little preoccupied.
As it turns out, the power was out from two days after Christmas (prime reflecting time!) until January 4th, late afternoon.
That was nine days total. During those nine days, the house was cold. And dark. And although there was no good reason why I couldn’t have sat at the kitchen table (where I do most of my writing) with my camping lantern and happily pondered life and my dreams in my journal, there was just. No. Way.
Also, I did not rush to do any of this even after the power came back. I’m not sure why, exactly. Maybe it’s just that nine days without power is exhausting in ways that you don’t anticipate. All that trudging through deep snow to the wood pile, and shoveling a path to the car, unburying the car, and saying goodbye to the perishables in the refrigerator that you no longer can trust. Farewell mayonnaise. Goodbye hummus.
Another confession. For the first weeks of the year, not a vegetable or green touched my lips. I was all carbs, all the time. Sugar and fat too. Those were also ok. I almost single handedly powered my way through a two pound bag of dark chocolate covered coconut almonds (from Costco, of course, that evil purveyor of comfort food delicacies.) The other major part of my diet during those days was the Costco tortilla chips.
All this could seem like a terrible way to start the year.
Unless it wasn’t.
Maybe it was a fine way to start the year, the best way, the only way. Because it was the New Year that was, the only one that I got.
What if, instead of seeing myself as a lazy loser who couldn’t be bothered to sit down and do the reflecting, darn it, (because duh! You had a camping lantern and what was your problem?), I could instead view myself as resilient, strong, smart, and even clever? After all, I figured out that Costco tamales turn out just fine if you wrap them in foil and let them heat on the woodstove’s narrow ledge. Instead of mentally pummeling myself for abandoning all vegetables, what if I reframed it as two weeks of being kind to myself through an unprecedented storm? One of my new friends from my online writing group commented that in times of crisis, we human types instinctively gravitate toward carbs and fats; they provide quick fuel and energy storage. It’s how our species managed to survive all these years. It’s how I managed to survive the beginning of this one.
As far as the reflection piece goes? I can reflect anytime. Any day. At any point in the year. None of this good work is dependent on a turn of the calendar page.
The influencers, the admonishers, the self-help goddesses, the women’s magazines: they make money and survive by showing up every December with tips and tricks for “New Year, New You!” God help you if you make it to January 8 and you haven’t followed their advice. “New Year, Old You? OH NO!” they seem to say.
(I am fairly certain that the influencers and self-help goddesses didn’t lose their power and cell phone service these last weeks.)
So let the year roll on. No need to turn back the clock after all. Maybe I limped through the beginning of the year, but I’m still here, and my Christmas tree is shining bright.
New Year. Same me. And it’s all just fine.
