Gentle January

A case for stretching the slow season.

Our old windows had ice on the outside AND inside for about a week.

I started this newsletter writing practice, and then I took a break.

And the break felt good.

I rested all through the Christmas break. This rest looked like wearing comfy clothes all day (but not pajamas; I made a distinction between daytime and nighttime outfits), making little snack plates of treats (this and this were my favorites), going for a few long walks in other neighborhoods, seeing a movie with friends (loved), watching whole seasons of TV shows at home, and reading.

Portland got a winter storm that put almost everything on pause for the past week (today’s rain seems to have finally slushed the ice), and I got a lot of good rest in then, too. Again, I wore comfy clothes. I made nice meals for my family. I puttered (very carefully) between the backdoor and my studio, with a hot water bottle as my constant companion. I went for a few walks before everything got dangerously slick. I learned a little gua sha practice (love the results; am learning to be okay with how much time it takes).

I moved slow and got 8-10 hours of sleep each night.

This is important because I’m having surgery at the end of the month, with a not insignificant healing period afterwards, and I’ve been focused on rest so my body is primed for recovery — and my mind is primed for a period of slowness.

I think, physically, I will be okay. I have a pretty high pain tolerance. I’ve had major surgery before (under much different, emergency circumstances) and I had two homebirths. I had bloodwork done recently and my iron levels have improved a lot over the past couple of months — very good!

The part I feel more anxiety about is not being able to do. To be not just slow, but still.

To see things in my environment at home that I can’t tend to (they shout at me, do they shout at you?), to have projects in mind that must be put off until later, to know that work will go on without me.

That’s the part I’ve been training for since the end of December: the practice of just being.

I have to say, it’s been my gentlest January yet. I didn’t make any big resolutions or set any big goals (beyond caring for my physical health so that life after surgery is more vibrant than ever). Because of this, I think, I’ve felt no January blues this year. No pressure to out-do last year’s self. No frustration that things aren’t moving faster or that I’m not performing better.

Over the holidays, I listened to Nigel Slater’s The Christmas Chronicles on audiobook. It’s not just this, but primarily he outlines an approach to the fullness of the Christmas season that begins at the beginning of November and stretches all the way through January to Candlemas.

I love this so much, this extending of a season of beauty and delight and connection in a way that is slow and intentional and sustainable.

We didn’t take down our tree until the weekend after New Years, and I’m still lighting candles every night. I made candied citrus peel the other day, and have been taking afternoon nibbles. A couple bunches of baby’s breath split between the entry and kitchen and bathroom make the indoors feel snowy and soft after the more cheerful decorations were put away.

If you’re experiencing January blues, I wonder if it might be because we push off the cozy beauty of December too quickly? Maybe we all need that slow spread of sweetness and light deeper into January.

There’s another opportunity to feel a fresh start, that isn’t so rushed as the January 1st New Year: the Lunar New Year begins February 10th this year. We’ve still got time for all that.