January always feels like a month I’m going to hate. You know; the holiday fun is over, the decorations are put away, the neighborhood is no longer alive with white and colored lights that make even a trip back from the store feel festive.
But somehow, I don’t hate January. More and more, I like it.
I like the blank-page-ness of the new year. Even if I don’t stick to my resolutions, they refocus me and remind me of my priorities.
I like the fact that even in California, it’s still cool enough to enjoy a fire in the fireplace (when it’s not a Spare the Air day, of course) and to wear my fuzzy socks on weekend mornings. Cozy = good.
I love how January seems to have more space than December has, space to let new plans be born and take root. In December, every weekend is always full of holiday things; January isn’t. That’s a good thing.
And I love how I go out in my garden, the garden I’ve neglected since at least Thanksgiving, and find things. I find green shoots poking through the soil, places where I planted tulips and daffodils months before. I even find flowers — like these pink hyacinths that are, astonishingly, already blooming.
What else will grow in our lives this year?
I don’t know. But it’s always exciting to find out.