OH, It's January?!

 

It is the beginning of the year and the first month always brings different things. We make plans and promises; some bold and some gentle. Some will come true and some will not, and that uncertainty can feel severe or strangely light depending on the day. What matters is that we planned at all. In a world that often escapes into the banal, the simple act of choosing a direction is already a form of courage. Even when the future refuses to cooperate, intention still counts. Right now I look at my life on two scales. On one side sits the dream of writing and cooking. On the other side is education, whether to continue pressing forward or to pause and breathe. I have been struggling with this tension, and I will admit something that makes people laugh. I want to consult a voodoo to see the future and what it holds 😂. I know it sounds odd, but when life feels foggy, you look for clarity anywhere you think it might exist. It is in these times that equainimity feels lesser than a virtue and more like a daily practice I am still learning.

Getting around lately has not helped my mood. Chai! The traffic has been ruthless. Every morning is a test of patience and endurance. I leave home early, stand in long queues, and still arrive exhausted before the day has even begun. One Monday I had to be in East Legon. I left home at 5:40 am and arrived at 9:52 am. The next Monday I arrived at 9:12 am, as if that small improvement was supposed to be comforting. The journey takes forever and the return home feels just as long. It begins to eat into your spirit peeking in a pernicious way, making you wonder if owning a car is no longer a luxury.

To make it more complicated, I was not even in Ghana at the start of January. I traveled for a tour and came back sooner than planned. Some days I think I should not have returned so quickly. Coming back to the same beat of emptiness, the same routines that promise motion, the turning of clocks, that never delivers meaning. I ask myself: what’s the essence of all these?  The weather has changed, and I keep thinking about how unpredictable it has become. Harmattan arrived in January and then disappeared almost as quickly, long before it felt finished. It made me realize that the weather no longer obeys any commandments. Lately I have also been eating a lot of shortbread cookies, more than I probably should. There is comfort: in the buttery feeling, the crumble that falls apart the moment you bite into it, the satisfaction it brings which makes me pause, even if just for a second. My January is the same as ever. I am living the normal life.