I’m declaring February the start of my year.
This north-northern hemisphere darkness is no time for me to start new things - I need a little light for that. A glimpse of a potential spring.
Glancing at the clock, I see it’s 5 pm - the light slowly creeping forward, the sun setting a little later than a few weeks ago. The sky is clear, pale yellow on the horizon as night’s inky black blanket draws overhead.
This is the time to begin. The energy of the seasons marking time rather than the calendar constructs we’ve made. January is an interesting month. Our Gregorian calendar suggests it’s the beginning of a year but there are other ways of viewing and experiencing this time of year.
The Chinese New Year makes more sense to me, a lunisolar celebration of the natural cycle of things, giving recognition to the movement of the sun and moon, of their importance in the cycles of life, of dark and light.
Imbolc, the Gaelic festival, marks the beginning of spring on February 1st, the point between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. Of course, Christianity took this celebration too - St Brigid’s Day - making it their own. And it’s being reclaimed! Fellow Substack writer
has written a great history of this day in her publication if you want an Irish take on the day and time of year. Marking the seasons and solstices is more in the rhythm of the earth turning, the seasons, and the ebb and flow of energy.Perhaps for me, it’s because I’m a child of the Southern Hemisphere where my calendar year has been in another rhythm, where January is a long, slow, warm creep into the start of the calendar year. It’s beach time and holidays. It’s barbeques and being outside. It’s friends gathering and blue skies.
Whilst writing this, I realised that this gentle start to the year was also mirrored in my work as a teacher in Australia, the school year starting in February. Where the new year's energy matches the school calendar year. It’s a slower start, the summer’s rest stretches out, preparing us for what’s usually a lovely, long autumn. It feels like I’ve taken time to find a rhythm here that makes sense to me, in body and mind - in complete opposite to what I’ve grown up with.
This year, I’ve taken time—the month of January—to reflect on the calendar year that was, and to set some intentions for the year ahead. They’ve been slowly forming. Incubating. This year, the year I turn 50—a year of consolidation, of starting a few new things, of beginning how I intend to continue. To breathe, to move carefully and with purpose, to gather, to share, to laugh, to absorb new knowledge. To feel joy. To be present.
What a gift.
Stay Well,
Lisa x
I’m Reading:
On Time and Water by Andri Snær Magnason. A book so beautiful, terrifying, and magical all at once. I want to travel to Iceland. I want to save the planet (the irony of these two things are not lost on me - my desire and love of travel isn’t so very environmentally friendly). A must-read book for 2023.
I’m Writing:
In response to reading On Time and Water ~ on Instagram
Lisa, you are the best....thanks so much for mentioning me in your substack....Imagine I'm only getting to catch up on my substack reads now...and what a joy and delight to have read yours as always...never mind you mentioning me...You are so good and thanks a million...So glad to hear you are turning a corner in realigning your upside down summer winter shift.....Love your words. Love your light...Keep shining bright and so great to be connected to you xxx
Beautiful writing Lisa. I’m greatly comforted by your feelings of settling in to a new seasonal rhythm in your new home in the far north of the northern hemisphere.