The Dead of Winter

January is my worst month.  I don't know if it started out long ago being consciously my least favorite month on the calendar, but I can say with great certainty that it is consistently my most depressing or, at the very least, my most melancholy.  I know I'm not the only one who feels this way so if you are part of the sad faced group of folks that wish we could fast forward from January 1st to Valentines Day (which has it's own set of troubles for me), read on.

There is the post holiday let down to contend with.  Here in the US, we are pretty much in celebration mode from October 31st-January 1st.  Then we get a big chunk of time (43 days, or approximately 6 weeks and some change) where we don't have much to look forward to.  Oh, there is Houseplant Appreciation Day (Jan. 10th), National Kazoo Day (Jan. 28th) and Ground Hog Day (Feb. 2nd) and the bigger holidays of Martin Luther King Jr. Day (Jan 16th) and the Super Bowl (Feb. 5), but since I pretty much detest football, find it utterly depressing that we lost a hero like MLK due to hate and fear, don't approve of daylight savings time, and find snowy/windy/rainy/yucky weather to be reason enough not to leave the house...ever, these 6+ weeks are not the best for me.  I also am not a fan of every commercial on television trying to remind me of every celebratory calorie I consumed between October 31st-January 1st so as to guilt trip me into joining the local gym/weight loss group.  Then there are the award shows.  Ah yes.  Award show "season" they call it.  Is it just me, or does it seem that these gigantic displays of wealth and grandeur seem a bit out of place when the majority of people in this country are struggling to pay the cable bill to watch said award show?  Are these movies and actors and programs really worth celebrating?  I mean, it's not like these people are curing cancer or feeding the poor.  I find it all so disenchanting.  Should we be bothered that more people vote for their favorite American Idol contestant than they do for the President of the US?  We aren't even in a Winter Olympic year, so television is not my friend during this time.

Some might say I have Seasonal Affective Disorder (who's acronym is ironically SAD).  I'm not sure if what I'm experiencing is really a medical disorder, or if what I (and many like me) have is simply JAB (January Always Bites).  I just simply can not recall one January in my entire life that was wonderful in any way.  And January is one of those long 31 day months...ugh.  Then when January spits me out, February comes along with all of its hearts and flowers and Valentines Day prep.  This is a simply dreadful holiday, especially when your single.  My friends and I jokingly refer to it a "Single Awareness Day" (who's acronym is ALSO ironically SAD) because, while most of the time I don't mind being single, along come Hallmark, and Kay Jewelers, and FTD Florists to remind me that love is in the air-just not the air in my immediate vicinity.  Actually, I think this whole "love" issue begins at the stroke of midnight on New Year's Eve.  If I had a dime for every pet I kissed at midnight on NYE instead of a nice man who made my knees go weak, I would be in Jamaica right now and not affected by SAD or JAB or anything else.  A few Bahama Mammas, sun, and salt water would decisively put an end to that...man or no man with a box of Godiva chocolates.

So what's the answer I wonder.  I'm pretty tired of having over 1/12th of my year be a time of dismay and depression....of being uninspired and unmotivated.  I turn to my keyboard.  Writing.  Writing is the answer.  Writing is a lover that never leaves me.  There is something simple and wonderful and magical about a blank sheet of paper before you write or type the first word.  It represents every possibility in the world.  I could write about how I feel about the snow and how I still find a special beauty in a fresh snowfall before anyone has shoveled the sidewalks or plowed the street.  How it clings to bear branches and power lines and makes the ordinary seem lovely.  Or I could write about the memory of the feeling of my toes digging into the warm sand on the beach in Jamaica many years ago while I watched my then small daughter play in the surf and build her first sandcastles.

I love being a Writer Girl.  I remember when I thought I could never be a writer.  After all, don't you have to have a degree and be published to really call yourself a "writer"?  The truth is I am a writer, and you my readers have made me more confident in my abilities,  Thank you for the last 7 months of reading this blog and giving me your feedback and encouragement.  It has brought with it a deeper purpose to my life.  I write, you read, and sometimes you get inspired to write too.  What a sweet joy that brings.  Thanks for reading this blog and thanks for passing it on and sharing it with your friends.  This time...this dead of winter (as my Gran use to call it) can produce some beautiful things if I chose to look past the restrictions of the circumstances and only see the richness of the opportunities.