“Did you know it’s ‘Blue Week?’” she asked me. “There are more instances of suicide and depression during this week each year than any other week.”
I hadn’t known that, nor had I heard the news report she referenced, but I didn’t doubt her.
January is cold. Frequently dreary. The sparkle of the holidays is over. The credit card bills roll in and the pounds show up and people have to pay for the indulgences of the holidays.
I see January as a time of optimism.
There’s something about a fresh new year that just bubbles with potential. It’s like a brand new page in a journal. The crack of a book, first opened. The early morning sunlight as you open your eyes to greet a new day. The options seem almost endless and it feels like the perfect opportunity to reinvent or improve oneself. This feels optimistic to me.
The first true full month of winter, January around here oft brings with it a substantial, measurable snowfall or two. Pure and white, snow feels like a fresh start. Reflecting the sun, it is blindingly glorious and does wonders for the mood. Fresh. Clean. Sparkling. This feels optimistic to me.
With the Winter Solstice behind us, the hours of sunlight grow ever-longer. Here in Connecticut, it is in January when sunset finally gets pushed past 5PM again. No longer am I standing at the bus stop in the waning light at 4PM. No longer is my middle school son trudging off in the blackness of the morning. There is promise in this– the revelation that we are to be granted more and more minutes of daylight with every passing day until mid to late June. What a gift! This feels optimistic to me.
And, so, though I don’t doubt the statistics. And I try hard to be more mindful and aware of those around me, I stand here, firm in my optimism…
The Optimism of January.