Edit 19: Note To Self
Reminding myself that this in-between time of life is worth the effort and the growth. It’s all part of the edit.
Late January has a very specific vibe.
Christmas is packed away, Mardi Gras decorations have taken their place, routines are mostly back online, and the South—having recently discovered winter—has decided to give it one more go. Possibly tomorrow. Possibly this weekend. Perhaps not at all. It is the South, after all.
Beyond my windows, things feel unsettled in all sorts of ways. Weather, headlines, the general sense of uncertainty. Inside, we’re paying attention—and grateful for the safety and warmth of home.
In late January nothing feels finished. On a personal note, nothing feels chaotic either, and that feels… earned.
It’s tempting to treat this moment like a holding pattern—something to get through until clarity arrives with a fully formed plan and a timeline. But I’m reminding myself (again): the in-between is not a waiting room.
It’s a place…with furniture…and maybe a blanket or two.
I’ve written about this before—about the space between what was and what’s next. About resisting the urge to rush towards the next destination just to feel more comfortable. This in-between isn’t new, but I’m better at staying here now, at being patient.
The in-between is where things settle without actually settling. Where urgency loosens its grip and a more thoughtful awareness takes its place. It’s where I notice—without over-thinking or explaining—what still fits and what doesn’t. Adult friendships have been very kind (and very firm) about teaching me this: clarity is better than obligation, and distance can be an act of care.
Growth isn’t always obvious. Sometimes it happens gradually, quietly—like routines resuming without resistance, or relationships finding their right shape. Mornings feel simple again, which I don’t take for granted.
This season has held so much to be grateful for. For calm after the storm. For warm coffees and slow mornings with my husband. For a deep exhale after months of waiting, and the quiet joy of watching my son step into what’s next: Syracuse officially ahead, a chapter opening that still makes my heart catch when I think about it.
February will arrive soon enough, with feelings and color and celebrations. But for now, I’m letting January close quietly—grateful for what has steadied, what has clarified, and what’s beginning without needing to rush. Many things are happening, but they are happening in their own time…and I am learning to savor that space.
Note to self: life is being edited here, and this part matters.
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