Take a Moment

I always delude myself into thinking the new year will start off smoothly.

I make notes about the past year and wish lists for the new one. I think I’m well prepared for whatever is coming. Instead, 2025 landed a few punches within the first hours—the fridge died, the puppy had an epic housebreaking fail, and a loved one was ill. Hello, New Year, and Uncle, already.

January is named for the Roman god Janus, whose two faces signal beginnings, endings, and transitions.

When this month begins, I always find myself wishing for an extra one. Wouldn’t it be great to have a full month between December and January? It could be a month devoted to transitions in the best ways. We’d catch up on sleep, eat well, and exercise. We’d see important people and get our affairs in order—meal plan for the coming year, reading goals, spiritual realignment, wellness. Heck, since this is a fantasy, I’ll throw in trimming the cat’s nails!

But there’s no such thing. Now 2025 continues to hurtle by with hardship everywhere—wildfires, wars, and in our nation’s capital, a pending transition that has the world on edge.

I’m in Mexico right now.

The other night instead of driving from dinner, I walked the beach in the dark. An enormous full moon hung over the Sea of Cortez. Mars pulsed nearby while Venus glowed to the west and Saturn blinked on. I stopped to look and hear the water moving in the dark and felt the cool air on my face. The moment lengthened as I stood there. I walked home feeling my heart a little wider.

That walk was a reminder that we can find such moments every day, the ones that stop time or seem to stretch it. These moments are everywhere—puppy’s joyful dash down the beach; the flouncing, tutu-wearing toddler; sunlight on a breaking wave. They are there if we stop to look, to listen, to feel a pause in the race of time. It’s not an extra month, but perhaps a helpful bit of grace in the rapidly moving world.

“To pay attention, this is our endless and proper work.” —Mary Oliver, from “Yes! No!”