January bear

slow and lumbering

This January, I am a bear. Slow and lumbering, trudging between the kitchen and the bedroom, where I have constructed a nest of newspapers, laptop, blankets and library books. I sit atop working slowly and trying to imagine where I want to go next.

I am very pleased to be doing January correctly, by the way. Enough of the scrambling on 31st December, no matter how well meaning it can feel, to end up with a list of steps towards a better me. Next year’s you will always look better from this vantage point of the scorched earth that was 2025. Instead, I believe I shall spend these next few weeks moving slowly and remembering how to move.

I don’t think resolutions are bad. For years I have consciously kept them small and joyful. Wear more bright colours remains my favourite. Learn how to make salads was an abject failure and I can hear my friend in the fens laughing as I type this sentence. I eat a lot of vegetables! January me feels obliged to point out; I rarely know how to make them palatable when they’re raw. I did follow a recipe for a dressing from the back of an Itsu gyoza packet and that went down very well in our household, so that’s a keeper. I should write that one down.

Perhaps there have been enough shoulds, though. Shoulds unallied to actions seem a little punitive. Even the gentlest of resolutions (write weekly Substack was two years ago, I believe) can become a stick to beat yourself about the head with, when it’s cold and dark inside your mind.

And the cracks never come where you think they will. Spend enough time staring at the line running down the wall in front of you and you miss the one bulging above your head (of course I just looked up as I wrote this! Just in case!).

I haven’t been going out. Obviously, work and home and school and home and Sainsburys and home and library and home, and, more recently, some joyous excursions with old friends. Mostly, though, I’ve been here. Working, reading, tidying, cooking and watching far too much of an excellent TV series on iplayer we’ve all enjoyed despite the fact there is a lot of swearing. There has been so much seasonal chocolate to taste. My son wanted to start making soups and that’s been quite useful even as my daughter disdains even to taste them.

Then, last week, I did go out. (Not a big outing, I barely need to write). I went to see some friends I haven’t seen for months. I ate risotto and talked about what we’d been doing and reading. It was small and glorious and I had to leave earlier than I wanted to get home. The damage was already done. My children were not having a good evening and the fact that my friend was taking care of them did not matter enough, because I was not there. There were a lot of tears before bedtime, which I am practised at, and some anxiety, which should not have surprised me.

I do wonder if this happens because you’re not going out enough, she texted later. My friend is far too gracious to say, get a fucking life and stop hanging over your children like a January blanket. My therapist had less compunction the morning after. Your homework this week is to go to that gig your friend has a spare ticket for. We talked about prioritising myself, again, but it’s much greater than that, I think. If I want to raise capable adults I need to begin with empowering my children.

So I called my friend. I messaged another friend and booked her capable daughter to come that night. I realised I’d been hiding away again. Writing my Christmas cards (which doesn’t always happen) and wishing I’d seen more of the people in real life this year, forgetting I’m the only one who can ensure that happens. Listening to music in my kitchen and ignoring the peace and pleasure that live music brings me.

There doesn’t seem much point in tying these feelings to a sentence like make sure you go out more unless I back it up by actually doing something. I remember during the third covid lockdown, having learnt from the first two, I put one lovely thing in the diary each week. Most memorably, storming around an entirely frozen Round Pond in Hyde Park taking turns at shouting about crap everything was with a friend. It was better than the alternative.

There is something in my diary I can’t wait to do this month, next month, March and June. I am going to fill in the blanks so there are at least 12 this year. And if you see me in real life (percentages rising this will be so) please remind me. Even bears awaken in March.