The January Myth: Why I’m Living in the "Julian Gap"
The "Spiced Potato" Confession
So, last month I thought I had a great idea. I was all about the Christmas spices and the concept of "marinating" ourselves. I spent 12 days "spicing" myself up with cinnamon and ginger, and I encouraged you all to do the same. It was an excellent plan, go me, cute little posts, hopeful intentions and yet, here I am (and maybe you are too) still feeling more like a "well-seasoned potato" than a well-seasoned human. Damn, so close with all those good intentions.
I’ve never been that "New Year, New Me" person; new year, same me some intentions for change or improvements perhaps, nothing solid, nothing resolution..err ary for sure. The ‘old me’ got me to where I am today, and I am thankful for her. Was it all graceful and perfectly executed? Fuck no. But I made it. I’ll admit to being a little tired and definitely too full of cheese. I even have a mild concern about gout...is that a genuine potential, or have I just been reading too much historical stuff?
Anyway, if you feel "behind" already, it’s because you’re trying to run a marathon in the dark potentially with an onset of gout. Anxiety often stems from the gap between where we actually are (exhausted, hibernating) and where we think we should be (the gym, the office, dry January). We are often fuelled by a brave, if slightly delusional, optimism this time of year, a spark that tells us we can outrun the frost. But sparks need a hearth to survive.
The Celestial Permission Slip: Why January is a Lie
Speaking of reading too much history, it turns out my "gout anxiety" might just be a symptom of living in the wrong century. If you’re beating yourself up for not being "productive" yet, I have a gift for you: The Julian Gap. In the original Roman calendar, January and February didn't even exist. They weren't months; they were just "The Gap." A 61-day stretch of uncounted, nameless time where the earth was frozen and humans stayed under their furs. They didn't start the clock until March. Even in Britain, up until 1752, the New Year didn't start until March 25th, aligning with the spring equinox and the rising sap.
Then, the "powers that be" switched us to the Gregorian calendar, and suddenly, we were expected to "launch" ourselves in the dead of winter. If you feel like you haven't "started" yet, maybe you’re just honouring Old Style time.
Biology Doesn't Wear a Watch
In her book Losing Eden, Lucy Jones explores why our minds need the wild so desperately. She points out that our brains aren't designed for fluorescent lights and digital calendars; they are designed for the biophilia of the natural world.
Jones notes that we have an "ecological soul" or what I like to call, a seasoned soul. When we force ourselves to be "on" during the darkest months, we aren't just fighting our willpower; we are fighting our biology. Science shows our cortisol levels and nervous systems are deeply influenced by the light. Expecting "Summer Energy" in January creates a massive biological friction.
That's not a personal failure; it’s an evolutionary mismatch. Your brain is literally waiting for the wild cues of spring to start its engines.
The Nest: A Sanctuary for the "Gap"
Because I know how heavy this "uncounted" time can feel and because I know that sometimes the "marathon in the dark" feels more like a "stumble in the mud", I’ve spent my own winter gap creating a place for us to navigate it together.
I’ve spent the last year consolidating and thickening my own roots. The result is a new tool in my "Seasoning" kit: The Room.
While my Walk & Talk sessions will always be a huge part of what I do (there is literal healing in the soil beneath our boots), I realised we needed a "Nest". A sanctuary for the days when the weather is too wild, or when your "spiced potato" self simply doesn't have the capacity to battle the wind.
This room is a physical manifestation of the "Wintering" philosophy. It’s a place to:
Sit with me when you need the safety of four walls.
Talk with me without having to raise your voice over the breeze.
Just be in a space where the Gregorian calendar and its frantic deadlines aren't invited.
Conclusion: See you in March (Sort of)
So, here is your Celestial Permission Slip.
Let’s agree that January and February are for marinating, not for serving. You aren't "failing" at 2026; you're simply refusing to run a marathon in the dark. Until the sap rises, give yourself grace. Eat the cheese, hug the dog, and listen to the quiet.
If the "shoulds" are getting too loud, come and see me. We can sit in the warmth of the new room, or wrap up and walk the frost on the paths. We won’t worry about the calendar; we’ll just be exactly where we are.