It’s the dead of winter, people. Happy New Year.
The days are short and dark, our families have drained our energies in the name of Love and Tradition. The trees stand bare, the rabid squirrels are foraging, until the frost finally comes to kill any last bit of life that might be holding on.
We sit with our hangovers, untagging ourselves across Facebook, sipping our gingerbread lattes, and we sit. We Think. We Ponder. We try to change our entire lives while we wait for Spring. We commit to vegetarian stew; freezing cold runs up the mountain; ridiculous hours of grace-based parenting. We sign up at the gym, we give up our weekends to being unplugged and pretend-reading other people’s books.
Maybe New Year’s Resolutions are only intended to get us through the barren, forsaken season of winter; to keep us breathing & moving forward until Spring.
And THIS, my dear friends, is when I like to celebrate the New Year. A few weeks beyond Easter, the food-coma lifts and spring officially arrives. The rains let up, and everything turns glorious green, and happiness returns to my neighborhood. The days get longer, the sun is brighter, the air is warmer.
So this year, I say write your resolutions. And hold them dearly as the tightrope that can bring you through the end of Winter and propel you into Spring with a few successes under your belt. Agree to press forward for the next 8-10 weeks. Hit the gym. Eat the stew. And when the first day of Spring arrives, release yourself from the hook. Remember that those resolutions were written by a crazy, sleep-deprived person in the dead of winter.
Come Spring, enjoy a non-holiday-inspired coffee, and make a new plan. Good things will happen when it’s not so damn cold out. I promise.