Notes on Reinventing February

February can be the worst month of the year if you let it. January feels like a fresh page, a blank sheet of all the dreams and goals I have yet to achieve, a love story unwritten. We ring in January with a party, fireworks and champagne and kissing the person closest to you. February can feel like coming in second place; so close to winning, but still not good enough yet. February bleeds with a melancholic longing, almost like an extension of January that has been worn down, a phantom limb that only leaves the remnants of joy from the new year. February yearns for something more, despite the longer days ahead and the celebration of love. February can be the month of despair, but only if you let it.

Sometimes, February barely ceases to exist for me. Other times, February never ends. It’s like Winter is dragging its feet, refusing to let Spring through the front door. Despite gifting us with later sunsets, the cold in February bites at my skin like no other month, the last punch thrown in a dogfight, a hail mary. It seems as if February is always last to the party, arriving five minutes after the cake has been cut and always lingering in the doorway, unsure of who to say hi to first. Most people do not notice it hesitating in the foyer, and those who do pretend not to notice. I can feel February like a yawning hole of loneliness in my stomach, grief hollowing out my bones. 

This year, I refuse to believe that February is what I have made it out to be. I used to take off the rose-colored glasses January put on me and see February as a month of misery, as the last obstacle before Spring and warmer weather. But now I realize the stagnancy I feel in February is of no fault other than my own. I have always felt like I was on the verge of something, waiting for something that will never come in order to start living, in Februarys past. But this year, I realize that there is no call to adventure. There is no commencement to start; you simply must do it on your own. I must hunt it down myself.  I used to be so afraid of February, a reminder of resolutions I have failed to keep up with and the rapid passage of time, but now, I will learn to love that we can fail and continue to live. I can write this and not know what I will do next, who I will love next, and live with that thought in peace. 

I used to feel a boredom in February, not from within but more so that people began to get bored of me. That is until February reminds me that I am not here to entertain anybody. Life is not supposed to feel like a gasp but rather a deep breath. This February, I vow to dance alone in my bedroom to my favorite song as I did in January and as I will continue to do in March and April and in the summer and when the new year comes around again. I will make a fool out of myself and belt the lyrics to songs I don’t know the words to because it’s a reminder that I’m alive. 

I have decided to rewrite February in my mind. It will no longer be seen as just the anticipation of the last snowfall before Spring showers and May flowers. I will treat February like ticking off the last thing on my to-do list, the sense of accomplishment I feel when all my jobs are done and the rest of my day is quite easy. It’s new, but it’s peace and contentment. I will beckon February in from the doorway and give her a big hug. No, it’s okay that you’re late. Yes, we already cut the cake, but there will always be enough slices for you. You have shown up, that’s all that matters.

This February, I will try to be okay with mediocrity. I will come to accept that mediocrity isn’t wrong and that maybe I don’t need to be the best at everything I do. Maybe I don’t need to be the best at anything I do. February will take my hand and pull me back, not because she wants to hold me back, but to stop me from rushing, that sometimes it’s okay to not always follow the schedule I have permanently imprinted in my head. It’s okay to be still for a little while; nothing has to be a competition. I don’t have to be better than anyone. I can do things just because they’re fun, just because I enjoy them, even if I am bad at them. I don’t need to know everything. It’s okay to just exist. It’s okay. I’m okay.

I leave January in the rearview mirror, but I do not rush by February this year. Every good thing has an inherent sadness to it for when it passes, and eventually, everything does. Everything passes. I know February will be gone in the blink of an eye, and I will think to myself, what have I done? What have I accomplished this month? I don’t want to forget this year. I don’t want to forget to stop and watch the snowfall and the pattern of the ice as the river freezes over. I won’t forget to stand outside every day because there is nothing quite like the sun on a cold winter day, the chill slowly making its way up my legs but my face warm from the golden rays. I wish to bottle up moments like these. I wish to bottle up February and keep it on my windowsill, a reminder that I have lived and will continue to live, despite it all.

February comes, and February will go. There’s nothing else for me to say. It ends as softly as it began.