I read something over the holidays that said, basically, “what have we done wrong that we push all of this joy and time off into a week-long period in late December, leaving us at the mercy of the subsequent darkest, coldest month of the year without any kind of break or relief?” It was something that, immediately upon reading it, I thought, oh, someone else gets it.
January is a struggle every year. That’s always been the case for me, even stretching back to when I was a kid. It’s not that I have Seasonal Affective Disorder — or, if I do, not to any great degree, at least — because it’s not as if the dark days and early evenings feel like a burden as such either in the past or right now. (My heart goes out to those who can’t say the same, though.)
Instead, it’s the fact that January every single year just stretches on, never-ending and with only the repetition of the weekday to offer. It’s a month when you have the holiday highs to come down from, whether it’s the color and the lights, the music and jollity, the time off and social aspects, or whatever, and there’s literally nothing to replace it other than everyday life, a return to the work week, and… I don’t know, shitty weather, I guess?
It feels especially notable for me this year, because I had to use all the time-off I’d accrued from work in December, meaning that I had a glorious month of three-day work weeks. Now, that’s almost doubled thanks to normality reasserting itself. I find myself tired and out of practice at… well, doing the base level, ashamedly.
We should all agree that January needs a break around this point in the month: a new holiday just to catch our breath and take a minute. Might I suggest the establishment of Phew You Made It Day?