Ah, January -- the annual restart button. This month is one of the slowest and quietest for me. The New Year has been ushered in and with it the urges to re-assess, start afresh, and give it another go. Though it's an informal ritual in the first weeks after the new year, I enjoy the mental exploration of the twelve months to come -- the seasons, the garden, the family occasions, the trips to be dreamed-up, skills to be acquired, information to be gathered, and experience to be gained. And yet a small part of me senses that before I know it a new calendar will grace my kitchen wall a fleeting twelve months from now and I will start all over again. The day and age we live in is a lightning-paced one. It's a reality I don't particularly care for but would rather face than ignore. While I won't argue that time flies when you're having fun, I think there are more options to that ending...Time Flies when you don't want it to. Time Flies when you're busy. Time flies when you're not paying attention. Or how about just plain 'ol Time Flies! I've chosen a simple lifestyle with connotations of "slowness" and I still ask myself, "Where does the time go!?!" more frequently than I'd like to admit. So what can I do about it?
January. That's my answer. Or the start of it at least. If January is naturally my quietest month, then I intend to embrace what it is -- a hibernation of sorts. A time to "re-cycle" myself. A period dedicated to rejuvenation and preparation. An exercise in slowness and an opportunity to refuel my fire. Despite our round-the-clock (or whizz-through-the-calendar) pace in Western civilization, natural and cultural cycles actually encourage an annual respite. This time to recycle oneself is integral to well-being and helps to establish a scale at which one can pace oneself during the rest of the year. Though tempting to minimize as lazy or self-indulgent, the truth is that this season should take its rightful place as one of healthful balance.
Though the solstice is long past, it wasn't until last week that I felt I could finally settle into winter. The garden has been put to bed, the livestock are rotated in winter quarters, the freezers and pantries have been filled to feed us til harvest begins again, and my holiday crafting, cooking, and merriment is complete. The shortened days and dark lengthy evenings lend themselves to projects long-put-off and visits with friends that for months have played hopscotch in the schedule. Most importantly, there are more frequent moments of solitude when I can recharge, meditate (in the sense of contemplation and introspection), and plan. Like any other month this one has its own regular To Do's: plan the garden, finish hog processing, order seeds, and finalize the previous year's finances, among other tasks; but I purposely make room for items that will naturally demote on the totem pole as this season of rest gives way to the busy seasons of growing, harvest, and holidays. For me right now 'tis the season to linger, dream, read, plan, and simply relax (novel concept!). While nature is pausing for a breath I, too, want to deeply inhale the refreshing air of a lightened load.
One of the few things that is certain about my January efforts is an annual list. Generally, there's a comfy throw blanket, a spell on the couch, and lots of eraser marks involved (yup, nothing says commitment like pencil). I'm not much of a resolutions-maker, but I spend time at the start of each year cogitating the previous year's good streaks and bad. The intention of course is to build on any beneficial momentum, alter the course as needed, and switch gears altogether if necessary. Then, pivoting my attention to the future year, I jot a brief list of things I'd like to see happen or accomplish personally, relationally, professionally, and on the homestead. I prefer to stay realistic and practical in my goals while allowing myself plenty of wiggle room for interpretation. This task already written for 2013 (first draft at least) and is pegged on a cork board in my hallway like a watchful instructor to remind me of my ideas and initial intentions on an early morning in March or in the humidity of an August afternoon. Throughout the year I can pause for thought on what I've done, am doing, or am about to do. For however brief a moment I can take a step back and breathe everything in. Of course, I realize this list will be in a haphazard state of done and undone, expanded and shrunk, scribbled and scratched come next January, but isn't that the point? It's not meant to be a contract...it's meant to be a written record, however fluidly informal, of what beneficial or detrimental ways I've used one of my most precious resources in the past year: my time.
I may not be able to slow the hands of time one nanosecond, but keeping a handle on my own pace is a different story. Good habits of self-awareness and living in the moment -- habits that I focus most heavily on during this season of respite -- will come in handy in the ensuing months that are much more busy by nature. Now is the season to gain perspective, renewed vigor, energy in my reserves, opportunity to explore new ideas, and a framework to guide me. Before long my hibernation will end with much flexing of muscles and memory. My eagerness to work with my hands outdoors, produce something worthwhile, and live full-force will break into a sprint and long-distance trek toward yet another finish line. By then the bushel baskets will be overflowing, animals will need tending, jars will need canning, gifts will need making, and the calendar will fill up day by day, month by month...but that's another post for another season.
Here's to a New Year!
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