It’s 2023, …and I’m not ready!

Do I cognitively accept that there’s a collective agreement we are in the year 2023 CE? Sure. I’m a member of polite society, so I go along with such things. Still, I’m just not ready to “spring” into the New Year…Like not at all. Am I alone in this? 🤷🏽‍♀️

This funky expectation that folks are suppose to feel all shiny and new when the ground is still frozen and sunlight is at a premium has never set right with me.  Like…Why do I have to be odds with nature because Cleopatra’s megalomaniac boyfriend got jazzy with the calendar umpteenth years ago? Egomaniacal men often attempt to hold nature and everything balanced hostage, but I digress.

I’m not naturally amped up during the winter months. My body and mind need more rest and quiet this time of year.  I’m literally a spring baby and that’s when feel most inspired and alive. So, there you have it! I’m self aware, empowered and free from the need to conform to arbitrary dates and social norms. Good blog! See you all March.

… Naw …But Seriously… all my “knowing better” has yet to result in my seamlessly “doing” better.   The following is a rather recent example of how the ongoing battle between consciousness and social conditioning took me to the mat.

Fall and winter 2022 did a number on a sister and I didn’t have the energy to do my annual NYE deep clean (my apologies Ancestors).

(Truth be told the crib wasn’t a mess (sans children’s room). It just wasn’t obsessively clean. I shouldn’t have to explain this 😫but I feel my Mama would want y’all to know her daughter isn’t trifling… I’m a work in progress.) I am learning (aaannd limping, but more about later.)

So, I took my sleepily self to bed around 8:00 pm on the Eve of 2023.  I consciously chose rest…. Or so I thought.

New Year’s Day arrived and I woke up under a blanket of guilt (and unfolded laundry). Was I still fatigued? Yes! But cultural shame can be louder than alarm clock. I got up and decided to redeem myself. 🎇New Year -Clean Baseboards🧹.. or whatever the hell they say.

AirPods secured, 70’s / 80’s R&B undoubtedly damaging my tender eardrums, I set off on my mission:  “Respectable, Responsible, Black Mother and Homemaker 2023”.  My feet did the hustle right on down the steps … however, my right foot missed  that all important bottom step and I continued my descent in the most undignified way. My ever loyal and notably thick left ankle tried  pick up the slack, but alas my ish was busted.

As I laid on the stair landing, awkward fetal position and all, I hollered partially in pain and partially in objection to my son’s attempt to call an ambulance.  (That’s one bill that was NOT  joining me in 2023).  I tried to resist the urge to cry, not because I’m against crying. (Come on now.. therapist  and vet social worker .. I keep the Kleenex ready).  I was afraid that if I started to cry, I wouldn’t be able to stop.  My very being was fatigued.  I was disappointed with the incongruence between my heart, mind, and body.  I could have done better, by doing nothing at all.

So, to wrap this little ditty up; tears- yes, /broken bones - no/ bad sprain, ugly boot, and crutches - yes/ super deep clean for 2023 - still no.

Now, would I have fallen if I had cleaned the night before??? Maybe, maybe not? The world may never know. What I do know is, I allowed guilt and expectation to rush me into activity I simply didn’t have to do. And really, for who? For what? The imagenary judgements of the nonexistent people not peeling my robust self off the floor? I was operating in a F.OG. (Fear /Obligation/ Guilt).

I’m not advocating for living in squalor or pretending order and organization don’t have wonderful benefits. I am trying to find balance and live harmoniously. Accepting that I need to operate in my own rhythms is far more challenging than I imagined. Still, I’ll keep inviting myself and others to welcome the natural evolutions of life with kindness and curiosity … regardless the date.

And if you’re like me and this just ain’t your time of year, join me and my boot , and sit yo arse down.  I ain’t seen an immaculate house heal trauma, save a marriage, or eliminate anxiety yet.  Be blessed and rest!