January is the hardest month for me. I always feel a void after the holidays. I love the holidays. I love cooking Thanksgiving dinner and cramming as many people as I can invite to our house to enjoy it.
I live for Christmas. It's my absolute favorite time of the year. Christmases growing up were always simple, but full of magic. Deep in my heart, I always believe I will feel that magic again. Some years it happens, most years it doesn't. Regardless, I love the build-up. I enjoy every single gift I wrap, carol I sing, and wreath I see on neighbors' doors.
I don't even mind my anniversary being the day after Christmas, or my two boys having birthdays immediately following. After all, they're the two best Christmas gifts I've ever received. But, after we've celebrated each of those occasions I stare my own birthday straight in the face. Two weeks after Christmas, it's a crapshoot and historically, the odds haven't been in my favor. This year there was nothing disastrous to report (thank goodness), but nothing extra super out of the ordinary either. Just another birthday. Ho-hum.
And then the "real" January sets in. It's cold, and dark and there are no highlights to anticipate. It's a new year, and feels like it should be some sort of a "new beginning", but it's not. It's the same routine, the same bills, the same same.