I don't know anyone who doesn't have a problem with mid-January. He slides in after the New Year's hype parking himself lazily on my couch, stale Christmas dust settling all over everything, my eyes clouding over with boredom and lethargy. Seeing him slouched there makes me forget what I was looking forward to. He paints the sky a dull gray and the trees a dusty brown. The snow has stopped falling. The wind has stopped blowing. Things are just still.
It's easy to misdiagnose this stillness as death. I can drift toward meaninglessness. My ears are typically so keyed up for blasting music and cacophonic drama that it takes a bit for them to adjust to this rare, hidden gentleness. I can't see it with my eyes yet, but my heart knows renewed life is teeming below the desolate surface. I know it, but I can't feel it.
For the time, I have to wait. And breathe. And choose to be thankful for the lull in oncoming busyness.
Unsplash Photo Cred: Egor Myznik