What is that little saying people always share with new parents? Something like, “the days are long, but the years are short, and nearly all of it is January.”

While this month has lasted almost forever, I have delighted in the tiny niche of art around January’s never ending quality and been glad that everyone gets that same feeling of “wow, it really isn’t February yet?” 

While the memes are adorable, I also enjoyed this poem Wild Pear Tree by Kaveh Akbar which begins with the inspired line, “It’s been January for months in both directions.” 

If you haven’t read it yet, his book Martyr! is amazing for other reasons. 

January is an oxymoron of a month; while you cover yourself in blankets to rest through the never ending cold nights, you also have to fortify yourself to battle against viruses, resolutions, snowstorms, people (somehow?) having increased energy for so many new projects, and sometimes an avalanche of insane executive orders. 

Last week, because I knew I needed some mental space, and then because Michael Stipe suggested it, I turned off all of the socials for a solid 7 days. I definitely felt the absence. There were moments where I missed seeing certain people’s posts, and where I mindlessly grabbed for my phone only to remember the portals to infinity were closed. But in that time, I read an entire book, worked on some personal writing, enjoyed the winter sun, and decided which sweatpants were my favorite (the black bell bottom ones from Land’s End).

When I did finally turn the socials back on, the first thing I saw was a post from someone I met through work many years ago, and whose art I admire. Thaddeus Miles, who has been sharing “Heart Whispers” on his social media said “Your strength lies in knowing what to let go of and what to hold on to. Protect your peace, trust your journey, and always choose joy.” 

Well, I logged on just at the right time and found what I needed. I somehow managed to protect my peace this month. I hope you did, too. 

Both mother-in-law Martha and my Dad had ways they modeled protecting their peace. It was one of the things my sister-in-law remembered most about Martha, in fact. I witnessed her practice many times: enjoying nature, finding quiet, pointing out small things you might miss otherwise and really studying and appreciating them. My father practiced this a bit differently: getting lost in stories, eating his favorite things (very) slowly, and making others laugh. 

As I think of both of them this month, I’m sad that they are not here, glad that they didn’t have to suffer through this interminable January, and grateful that they taught me so many good ways to find peace.