January is such a long and luxurious month. It’s hard to believe that thirty days ago we were celebrating the holidays and preparing for the New Year.

So much happens then, making January extra delicious to come down from the heady holidays and settle into “new”. Those days right after the Winter Solstice are flush with the rush of the holidays, eager and rife.

Then it’s time for resolutions, all the attention pivots from the holiday trips, the giving and receiving, to the idea that this year will be different, you WILL be other than last year. Temporal Landscapes teem.

The Adolescents and I went back to school, riding the flush and rush of all that, we have washed ashore in the new schedule, homework, professors, and expectations. The Adolescents had finals, with its attendant pressure and anxiety.

We celebrated Martin Luther King, Jr. We beheld more murders at Monterey Park and Half Moon Bay.

We make it through these dark, cold days somehow.

Somehow.

And now, The Adolescents have this day off – this breath, this moment, before it all resumes again.

 

But this pause, here where I have no plans except to fold laundry, get groceries, make soup, and rest a little…

This day, this moment is a pause – like when you are hiking and you come upon a fork in the road. You cease a moment, to decide between and among paths. You stop briefly, to adjust your laces, clean your lenses, take in the surroundings. You observe your space and yourself in it. You see – where am I? You ask – where will I go?

But you have to interrupt yourself to do that.

It’s a flash where you look at where you’ve come from and take a look at the next few steps to determine what’s next. But you have to stop moving in order to decide – will it be the easy grassy valley path or the steep rocky route?

Sometimes the steep track is actually slopes smooth and verdant and the low valley trail is slippery with fallen shale.

But you’ve got to check the conditions, the road and your own, before continuing. Can you do it?

Either way, any way, in all ways, it’s a question of two things.

It’s what and who you are and what and who you aren’t.

It’s what you have and what you lack.

It’s your will and how it sways.

 

So here we are, in the last days of Winter Solstice season – we’ve done some retreating. A few days from now will be Imbolc, the cross-quarter mark between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox – and I’m checking in today.

hello, love. hello. how are you?

 

It’s a good day for it. An arctic storm has descended on the county promising abundant rain.

I’ll permit myself to go within, through what I have – as I sort laundry and take a grocery inventory – and look at what I need.

For sure the things I need –

  • weed the garden
  • more greens
  • more weight lifting
  • look forward to spring break

And what do I lack?

  • a healthy right knee – so someone to walk the dog

I need to ask The Adolescents to help more around the house, a schedule and some calendar reminders.

I need to clean and regroup. I need to do some homework.

I wonder about all these needs. Are they really needs?

 

What do I have? Freedom and choices, my health, supportive family and friends, love, discipline, and eagerness.

I seem to have many of the things necessary to get what I want and need. So do you.

Take some times over the next couple of days, preparing as you did for the Winter Solstice and surrounding holidays, to prepare for the next Season of Joy. Over the last week I’ve talked about some of the layered techniques you could use to get closer to understanding what you need and want.

Imbolc can be another, the next Temporal Landscape for you. That place to pause and look ahead over the next season and decide how you want to allow for more joy.