The month of January has always been a bit of an unwelcome one for me. I don’t typically hold grudges against the months of the year, but January is a month I have never cared for much. Every year it seems to bring a wave of pressure and panic into my mind, that no matter how hard I try, I cannot seem to get away from. I think it’s mainly to do with the fact that the start of a New Year now seems to be heavily associated with the idea that you need to reinvent yourself, to make this new year the best one yet and that this very moment is the only time you can start afresh or achieve that warped idea of a ‘New Year, new me’.
For many, this time of year is symbolic of a new beginning. A future view of a fresh set of 12 months ahead of us to achieve so much in, to fill with excitement and productivity around every corner. A time to write out our New Year’s resolutions and personal promises to ourselves of how we are going to make this year count, by becoming our best selves and achieving all that we desire to. These are all, of course, great things to aspire for, but the pressure that arises from the New Year dream, especially on the days that are filled with nothing but the quiet, can easily make you feel as if you’ve wasted a day or missed an opportunity somewhere, leaving you deflated.
The idea of a best or perfect year is pretty unattainable, whether you’re living throughout a pandemic or not. Bad days do happen, boring ‘nothing’ days will appear and sometimes days arise where productivity is nowhere in sight, and that is okay. This doesn’t mean you have failed, or that you have missed your chance to achieve something you want to do. Perhaps you did exactly what you needed to in that moment, which was rest.
You have time. Don’t let the end of the New Year hype fool you into thinking you do not. Take every day as it comes, embrace the quiet boring days, enjoy the adventure-filled ones when they arise and be kind to yourself always.