Do you ever feel that you are in the process of being sketched and that all the parts haven’t quite been filled in yet?
And that because there are some parts that haven’t been filled in it can be hard to get into a rhythm?
I feel that way every January. Every January I feel parts of me have been erased and that I am waiting to be redrawn.
I often dread one side of Christmas – all the running around, the possible family fighting, staring rampant consumerism in the face; but part of me loves the other side of Christmas: the lights, the tree, the carols, the sanctity of it. I love that side and I miss it when it’s gone. I only succeeded in packing up my Christmas decorations yesterday, mostly because I cling to the magic of the season, I don’t want it to leave. I don’t want to be faced with what I see as an empty and colourless room. Waiting to be filled with another kind of magic.
And that’s the problem. Finding another source of magic to fill up the house, my heart and my head.
There is a sense of needing to regroup at the start of every year, to take stock, to plan a little. And sometimes that regrouping can bring with it a sense of anxiety as we recount in our heads what we experienced, what we went through during the previous year. It can be daunting to think we may have to go through something similar again (or maybe even something worse) and we wonder if we can cope or if this time it will all be too much.
It’s the light that changes everything. The deep shade of morning clutches like hands, easing up the walls of the empty room. It is like a skin growing over a wound, healing, sucking out the dark until the glory, the majesty, the power of the noonday light is let through. The Persian rug is suddenly ablaze with stories. The photographs on the mantel beckon with joyful memories. Flowers in pink and purple and orange beam at the window. A butterfly skims the top of the door, resting for a minute before flying off again to explore anew. He is the Marco Polo of butterflies.
Suddenly, the room doesn’t seem so empty. Suddenly, the year ahead seems less grim. Suddenly, it seems possible that the parts of me that were missing will be filled in because that is what is meant to be and endings are just beginnings, anyway.
And I realise I don’t need to find another source of magic. That I don’t need to find the colour in the room. I realise it was there all along.