This is a funky time of year for me. January is my least favorite month and February, comes next (its chief redemptive quality lies in its brevity.) Cold, gray days of sameness that stretch into more of….the same. Bleck!
It’s easy during these days for me to wake up with a “ho-hum.” Another day….more sameness. Count the days until spring.
This morning my thoughts went in another direction. I thought of some friends that who are dealing with some difficult circumstances. I remembered the difficulty of this past December. I thought of other times of waiting….for test results….for a phone call….a job offer…
And I remember that it was in those times I wasn’t desiring the exotic. The stuff that I think would bring fulfillment and happiness: A trip to Italy. Playing in the Ocean. More money. Being thinner. More…
No. It was the ordinary that I wanted. The mundane. The clatter of dishes in the kitchen and the noise of kids in the other room. And who cares if the checkbook balance is teetering on the edge….we’ve been there before and survived. What I want is another cup of coffee with Jay on my stained, too-soft couch that needs to be replaced. Or a telephone chat with my sisters or friend.
I can’t say my revelation is going to cause me to gleefully anticipate the winter days. But it does remind me of the importance of seasons and yes, even the sameness of them. Like them or not, I need January.
Because it teaches me to find the extraordinary in the ordinary.