You know how I always get all panicked whenever I anticipate the arrival of January? I'm like one of those minor Scandinavian gods, running around Valhalla and pulling out my (very blond) hair while shrieking that the twilight thing is nigh.
ME: "Loki! Loki! We're ALL DOOMED!
So I make plans. I vow to get out and try new things. Or cook fantastic new dishes. Or train for a marathon.
I don't regret having done any of those things in the past. But it occurred to me last year that when March comes, I usually feel better whether I take ballet lessons or learn how to speak Russian or not. Which has led me to just own the fact that I'm low-energy and non-life-loving this time of year. I'm not going to be afraid of feeling this way anymore.
And if I want to take more naps than usual, so be it.