The stretch of holidays with its incumbent feasting is over. Light displays are mostly gone and there is little to brighten the long hours of darkness.

The mail brings bills and a few handwritten envelopes marked “Return to Sender—Unable to forward.” I thought I recognized that writing as my own!

The bitter cold begs the question:  Why did we choose to live out our lives in the Northeast? If we don’t ski, and we don’t head south, what do we traditionally do in January?

We denude our houses—inside and out. We painstakingly (even if not conscientiously) pack each one of the decorations away. We would like to toss everything into bins and hunt and sort next year. We know from experience we will regret that shortcut. We document any new additions to the ornament collection. We climb a shaky folding ladder, usually in frigid temperatures, to deposit it all back into the attic.

We resolve to diet, after first polishing off lingering boxes of assorted chocolates, now dwindled to where there is no assortment. The remaining are the ones no one considers tasting in December. We eat them anyway—we do not want to waste them, and besides, we are ‘cleaning up.’ Same drill for what hides among the wax paper separators inside the cookie tins. These carbs—the favorites and the obligatory ones alike, take the same direct flight to our middles. Withdrawal starts the day we reach in for a treat only to find pleated candy papers or cookie crumbs.

It is not that surprising then, that the third Monday in January is considered the most depressing day…not just of January, but of the entire year. One travel company terms it ‘Blue Monday’—the day the realization hits that the holiday bills are about to arrive, and resolutions may already be broken.

I am determined to find a way to savor this first month of the brand-new year. We could take our cue from January’s namesake: Janus the Roman god of doors, of beginnings and endings—the god that looks simultaneously to the past and to the future. When we start the Christmas decorating, there is a push to get it up, get it done, and race on to the next holiday task or event. Now the pressure is off, and while we miss the lights adorning our place and surrounding ones, we can appreciate the neat, streamlined look of our single porch light illuminating the night like a faithful sentinel. As we remove the tree ornaments can we ponder the memories that accompany each? I relish the chance to admire the decades-old photo ornament made by my daughter when she was in kindergarten. I wrap it carefully with the presumption that I will see it again in eleven months. I recall the givers of ornaments who are no longer with us as I touch these lightning rods that transport my thoughts to another time and a special place in my heart. I peruse my Christmas cards and really read them now---delighting again in the photos, the verses, and any notes inside. I think about how my list of names representing the people in my life has evolved, adding, and losing some each year. I pick out a card and write a note to someone who has not heard from me in a while. Like me, they may enjoy getting a piece of personal mail during this stark month. Then I cut the pictures from the cards and think of ways to re-use them, again anticipating the blessing of more Christmases. I vacuum the space where the tree stood and put the furniture back to its usual arrangement. I fondly recall the gathering and the giggles that took place in this room just weeks ago; now referred to as “this past Christmas” or “last year.” I think how spacious the room seems, and like January itself, crisp, clean, and uncluttered. This looks now like a good room for thinking and writing. I am grateful for this fresh start offered to everyone. Epiphany—the original one and the personal ones we can have-- rightfully belong inside January. Have at it!

Lilly Kauffman is a non-fiction writer who was privileged to work as both librarian and a teacher. Her essays, whether serious or humorous, capture the experiences that allow us to laugh and grieve. Family and faith inform her writings. She is currently working on several book projects: A Mother Grieves in Ink, Ampersand, and Lil Letters.