Blue Monday (contains swearing)

Like so many people, I have always struggled with January.

It is a bit shit, is it not?

It is cold and muddy and miserable and there are not enough hours in the day.

I recall a few weeks back a friend telling me that Blue Monday had passed. I felt relieved because I hadn’t noticed. But as January has progressed since, I must admit that being positive can be a challenge, and stresses abound.

I am now looking back on January on this first day of February and analysing, as I do, why one finds oneself in slump.

The weather, for one. It is cold and therefore uncomfortable. Warmth is something you have to achieve, rather than it being a given. Humans have long since lived this way and I call to mind the early people, huddling in their caves and hiding from the elements , until they had to venture out to find food or starve.

None of this should come as a surprise. It happens every year. The clocks change, the days get shorter, the weather worsens and everything is as it should be. It’s fine.

I think, when you know you are – shall we say – susceptible overthinking, the good thing about time passing is that you start to learn the triggers.  I have known what my triggers are for a while, and for ages I was able to deal with them. But when life gets complicated, when there’s a lot going on, it is harder to avoid detonating those triggers. 

I am not sure whether hearing it had been Blue Monday was a good thing or not. On the one hand, it made me feel grateful I had not succumbed. And that if I was finding this time of year hard, I was not alone. But on the other hand, it drew my attention to a notion that maybe I should be struggling – that it was expected, and thereby adding yet another quandary to my already whirring mind. 

This is happening to some extent inside every single head in every single body in the whole wide world. Everyone has challenges, and some people are dealt an absolutely shit hand in life. I hear stories – true ones – all the time, about crimes and addictions and tragedies and it is horrific what some people are going through. I think about them, and I do not to shy from their plight, as it could happen to anyone. I too could go off the rails, end up in jail and find myself on the wrong side of sympathy. 

Yes, I’ve been watching too many true crime documentaries. 

But I also wonder if, by taking on all of these stories and vicarious feelings, I am blighting things for myself. If tragedy is to visit me, then being prepared for it will not make it any easier to bear. 

I live in fear, I guess.

In short, I think I just need to stop fucking thinking. Thinking about work and the one child there that seems to think I am the devil incarnate; thinking about the house and all there is to do here; thinking about the kids and how I have ruined their brains by getting them smartphones; worrying about the naughty cat and how to end his antisocial ninja activities; pondering decisions past, and contemplating choices going forward as if to get these wrong would be my fault. How can we always make correct choices? Life is a gamble in so many ways. Nobody has a crystal ball. I am not fit enough, I am not patient enough. I am not kind enough. I am not enough. 

Ergo – I am also too egocentric. 

I know I am fortunate in so many ways, not least, to have a job – a profession, no less. I am proud of that. But it is not one that comes easily to me. This is probably because, in spite of my tendency to over think (and think the worst), I am actually an idealist. Teaching kids should be just that: teaching. Not chastising, nor nagging nor reprimanding. In an ideal world, there would be no need.

(Most of the children I teach are truly marvellous, by the way.)

But overthinking does have its advantages. If I have a million negative thoughts, then I also have a corresponding million positive ones, and it’s to those I must turn – and I do. I do this because it is the best way to live, but also because it builds resilience, and we all need that. 

In January, good stuff has happened. I have saved £4.16 in my Monzo daily saver challenge. Woo hoo. 

We have a stove in the hallway meaning the bedrooms are now less like walk-in freezers. Thank you, Big Seymour. Legend. 

We are getting to grips with the solar panels and the magic that is behind them.

I met a bona fide Spotify artist, and we had a lovely chat. 

In the course of the above chat, I upgraded my phone. Yay. 

My mother is living it up in Shanklin.

Boy Seymour is “knuckling down” to his studies. Apparently.

Mini Seymour received an excellent school report, despite her struggles.

Little Seymour Number Two handed a CV in to a shop. It will probably come to nothing but she wouldn’t have done that a year ago.

And best of all, Little Seymour Number One (also a Spotify artist don’t you know) is… dare I say it, starting a new year, freshly cured from her three years of wrist pain and dependence on nsaids.

It’s curious how writing about the good things when in a slump feels gloaty – as if I am somehow being complacent. And the fear starts again. It’s a strange cycle of psychological self-restraint, not permitting myself to let go and just be… happy. 

Overthinking again. 

No wonder I have a headache. 

But there was one thing that happened recently that gave me an enormous filip. (God I love that word.) In spite of all of the media bullying to the contrary, I have ALWAYS known that James Blunt is fucking amazing. And watching his documentary and seeing how great he actually is made me feel good about myself, in a week where I was was definitely not doing that already.  

The positives abound. Blue Monday has long passed. I’ve got this. 

#goblunty

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