February is coming.
We talk about how to plan an attack before I even think about the sunlight we get back now that solstice has passed. The mile-markers fly by with minimal recognition. I’m always bracing for something.
I want to feel like I’m moving forward, but every year it floors me. I try to tell myself that this year, yes, this year I can plan better. I can stick to the plan easier. I can do this. Every year I wonder what I have to figure out to make it different than the last. Then I wonder if it’s time to start blaming myself. Like I somehow force myself into bottoming out just by assuming I will.
Or maybe I just wish it were that easy. Point one finger in one direction and change the thing I’m pointing to. Yes, wouldn’t that be nice?
But maybe. Maybe it is different. Maybe we can acknowledge our growth and our achievements. Maybe February will sneak up on us like the end of 2014. Maybe if we immerse ourselves in projects, goals, and commitments we can come out on the other side of winter still intact.
That would follow the pattern, wouldn’t it? We always come out still intact. Just barely, but we do.
Deciduous trees. We give all our leaves to the winter and spend six months trying to get them back. But I’ve lived in the Pacific Northwest most of my life. I want to be an evergreen.