The January doldrums & leaning into the cheesy of it all
I have this reoccurring daydream lately of a big ol’ bed (not * that * kind of daydream, you perv). Just a huge, comfy bed — piled high with a duvet so soft it feels like angel’s wings. Like kitten fur. Like Jacob Elordi’s eyelashes (I’m guessing, but like, I’m right). And the daydream is just me, rolled up in this bed like a lil caterpillar in a cocoon. Unbothered. Relaxed. Sleeping in a puddle of sunshine.
I’ve been so tired lately. The January kind of tired, where I’m floating through the days like a wraith, haunting my own life. Motivation? I don’t know her!
And we can all collectively agree January is a bit shit, right? I think we’re all meant to be hibernating, just a little. We’re all Persephone, and we need our three months of rest in the underworld, curled up next to Hades (you just know he’d be cozy to sleep next to. That fire hair?! Like a heating pad but sexier.)
And it’s inevitably in these seasons that I pull a Bojack and get a little too mean to myself. The inner monologue is relentless. But this year, I’ve been actually hearing it, noticing it. And it takes me aback sometimes, how easy it is to say some variation of “I’m trash” to myself. How it’s an automatic reflex. And sure sometimes it’s just a lil joke (“she’s a dummy!”) but sometimes… it’s really not.
Leaning into the silly, crinkled-nose sweetness of “I’m a lucky girl”
In middle school, we had these planners that had fun facts every week and one of them was, inexplicably, that it takes more muscles to smile than frown. (Why was this a “fun fact” you ask? Just another reason middle school was hell, and not the cool place with sexy Hades, like hell hell with low waisted jeans and trauma). And I think that’s true of so many things, that it’s harder to recognize happiness. That it’s so much easier to keep yourself “safe” by never letting your expectations get the better of you. Keeping it all in check.
I’ve been trying to do these affirmations lately, that I found on Tiktok (where else??). You’re supposed to look directly at yourself in the mirror and say “I’m a lucky girl. The universe is on my side.” And it’s SO HARD. It’s like my body physically rejects this narrative. But I’m trying to rewire that response, that automatic cringe. Trying to lean toward the cheesiness of it all.
And is this groundbreaking to say? No! It’s like “oh, you need to be nicer to yourself? Duh.” But it feels groundbreaking in the moment. Trying to impel those words (“deserving, loved, worthy”) past the automatic resistance is so raw. Visceral. It’s why it’s so much easier to just say I’m a trash bag and move along, you know?
Recognizing the happy & basking in it, just a little
I have tasked myself this month to physically say, out loud, when I am happy. (Again, it’s so cheesy!! But THAT’S THE POINT, just let it wash right over you).
Yesterday, I was doing my lil daily walk on my treadmill, absolutely shattering my eardrums with the crying in glitter playlist, and I stopped for a second, just a second, and went “I am enjoying myself.” Like, out loud, alone, in my closet (I can hear you being like “wait, what do you mean your closet??” Yes, my treadmill is stuffed into my bedroom closet. It fits perfectly. I call it my workout cave).
And did I feel like an idiot talking to myself out loud, telling myself I’m happy? Of course!! But here we are anyway. And it’s honestly lessening some of the sting from the ol’ January adage (you know the one, the whole “what the hell am I even doing with my life right now”). I look back at this month and I * actually * remember all that stuff that was really good, along with the bad. Even if it didn’t feel like anything all that important or interesting or major at the time. I still felt the joy. I’ll take that win.
Just a few things that made me happy this month, if you’re curious:
The aforementioned treadmill walks. I’ve been trying to walk at least an hour and a half every single day and I thought I would hate it but I’m obsessed. It’s forcing me to take time for myself, no matter what, and that honestly feels so good.
The truly brilliant Lily Gladstone’s Oscar nom. My brother recommended the book Killers of the Flower Moon to me months ago and I read it recently and it exceeded every expectation. Fascinating and heartbreaking and brutal. I think Lily’s performance in the movie captured all that and more. There is truly nothing I love more than someone recommending me something they love, and I end up loving it too.
A nap in a snowglobe. We had a wild stretch of weather here in the Midwest (the implications of which are not all that happy, but we here we are) and one morning I woke up with all my windows completely covered in frost. Like a full sheet of sparkling ice from top to bottom. And my sweet little cat was curled up by my feet and I just dozed in a big pile of blankets, an otherworldly interlude. Sometimes daydreams come true.
Hey, Kelly here. Welcome to The Landline. Dial in for gentle deep dives into anything and everything I'm obsessing over at the moment (mostly sane, always silly). Grab your Diet Coke, wind that phone cord around your finger, and let's get to it.