It happens a couple of times every year, but I never seem to catch it before it begins. The preceding months will be all good and well. Projects at work will be progressing smoother than usual. Co-workers will be kinder, more patient and thoughtful. I’ll feel good about my own writing and reading habits, and I’ll even try a new workout or two in the evenings. And then one day, usually a weekend, it all comes to a slow then sudden halt. I’ll find that I’m bored with it all. The new things at work or my writing projects will still be going well and enjoyable, but there will be some aspect that feels missing or not enough. I’ll feel restless.
It happened last week. The gears in my head started to spin faster and faster, aimed with no destination in sight. I attempted to make plans with friends and failed. The manic energy manifested itself in short bursts of cleaning to my own surprise.
I know people say winter is a time for slowing down. The nights are long and all encompassing. Animals thicken their hair and slow their heart, but the phone in my hand and the emails in my inbox never seem to respect the darkness of the season. Maybe the difference between external demands and internal needs are deeper in the depths of winter.
The end of one year and the beginning of another will be here in nine days. With the solstice behind us--yesterday at 1:48pm Pacific time--early sunsets will soon be a thing of the past. In a few months, migratory dusty geese in the northwest will return to Alaska, and all of us will continue our turn around the sun.
I’m not one for new year’s resolutions, personally, but I have started writing a few “goals” on a sticky note after seeing Jenni Gritters, a writer and coach, share her own on Instagram. I don’t write out how each bullet point is S.M.A.R.T. or how I will track all of them. I just place the sticky note on my bulletin board, within sight of my laptop, and whenever I need it, my eyes drift to the things my past self wishes for my present and future selves. Whenever I no longer need the reminder, I write a new sticky note for the season.
Jenni shares a brilliant framework for change in her recent newsletter, Embracing Cycles of Change. Any area of our life can be in any of the four parts of a cycle, illustrated through a metaphor with playing cards. I think I was emotionally in the tail-end of a mini Phase 3 last week (playing a card game without any changes, until one is needed), while my relationship to my job seems to be in Phase 1 currently (shuffling the deck and asking what do I really want to out of a job, anyways?). I like the idea that we have multiple decks constantly in different phases. A deck for our friendships, partnership, work, Self, and so on.
After a local hike with my partner on Saturday, I think I’ve come out of the worst of my latest round of restlessness. A good day outside really does do the trick, though it is all the harder in the icy months. My partner and I have more plans for the summer, but I wonder when my next bout of restlessness will catch up with me. What will I be doing? What deck will I need to shuffle? And what phase will be changing, whether or not I am ready for it?
Before you go…
Using the graphs above, how might your next year look like? Are there peaks and falls you can anticipate? And if so, what will you do with this information? For myself, planning a weekend with friends in March or April might do my restlessness some good…
Jenni Gritters is a writer and coach for creatives and freelancers. Whether or not any of those words mean anything to you personally, I would take a look at her newsletter, Mindset Mastery, especially the post Embracing Cycles of Change to better understand the circular chart.
Something to Try: The Pudding is an online outlet combining storytelling with data visualizations. “How are you doing?” is their latest interactive essay by Abby VanMuijen with Michelle McGhee asking readers to consider their emotions, their colors, and their locations within us.
Whether you’re passing by or interested in following along, thank you for being here.
It’s a tricky thing: this transaction of time, attention, and resources. Your subscription helps me keep going, which is more valuable than you know.