I want a soft January, no, I need it.

hoping you feel more and more softness

I don’t just want us to have a dry January or a January filled with tips and tricks and reductions. I don’t want a thicker schedule, another visit to the ER, another virus, another Amazon order. I don’t want more output from social media, more memes, more noise. I don’t want more information and news pouring into my oversaturated heart. I don’t want to know what so and so is doing to their living room across the country or what the top nutritionist is feeding her kids tonight.

I want a soft January.

This month I have taken a pull back from writing, listening instead to what I need: which is quiet and softness and a sense of landing. In the west coast, winter hasn’t yet come hard. We have no snow, barely any rain, and just a few cold blisters of frost on the grass. I imagine it’s a little lovelier to find softness in a blanket of white snow. The soothing quiet that comes with downy flakes is unmatched, especially for those of us who don’t have it very often.

In any case, I can find softness here. In the pink clouds marking up the evening sky. In the salty, ice cold sea caressing the rocks.

There is an overload of bad news out there, as we all know. I need more sunsets, oceans, forest paths, warmed blankets, herbal tea on the hour. This is what I reach for in soft January. I know your reaching may take you someplace else.

I’d encourage you to find one less pathway into the Knowing (instagram, news, TV, youtube, radio, TikTok, whatever you use to connect to the outside world).

Let it sink into unknowing.

Unplug yourself from the excess of outlets. Let your January be softer, as soft as it can be, wherever you may find yourself.

Find a Sumo orange. Put it in the fridge. Later in the evening, pull back the thick peels and eat it, segment by juicy segment.

Enjoy the sweetness of this poem.

The Orange

At lunchtime I bought a huge orange—
The size of it made us all laugh.
I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave—
They got quarters and I had a half.

And that orange, it made me so happy,
As ordinary things often do
Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park.
This is peace and contentment. It’s new.

The rest of the day was quite easy.
I did all the jobs on my list
And enjoyed them and had some time over.
I love you. I’m glad I exist.

— Wendy Cope

Photo by Deeja Shots.

Find some solace outside, where your nose reddens and your walks are hopefully long. Maybe this playlist will offer you something new to listen to.

Let softness guide you, with the cranky neighbour, the cacophony of children inside one small room, the lineup at the grocery store at 4:26pm.

The days are lengthening, smidgen by smidgen. The bills are also piling, the appointment wait times are laughable, that little hand still fit inside yours, your mother is still alive, your beloved is still sleeping next to you, you have lost your home, your have lost your job, you took the kids to the movies last night, you are reinventing yourself, you are greeting stomach roiling grief for the first time, you are unsure, you are safe, you are in need, you are scared, you are sacred.

You are not alone. Let your shoulders soften. Let your skin soften in the bath. Let your feet meet the just warmed sheets from the dryer.

I hope you find your precious space, tonight. So soon. I hope the softness comes for you.