On Starting the Year Not Quite How I Mean to Go On

Or, on how new starts are arbitrary and willpower alone isn't always enough

Five days in, and my 2024 seems to have started with more of a whisper than a bang.

Back in December, I imagined that I was going to begin the year by jumping straight back into the redraft I’m working on and making huge progress right away… but, of course, that is not how it’s played out in reality. Presumably I was wilfully forgetting both that I have a chronic illness and that the school term doesn’t start until a quarter of the way into January. And, as if those two facts themselves weren't going to slow me down enough, it then became clear that I'd come back from visiting family in Scotland having caught covid¹.

So yes, a whimper of a new year rather than a gong. These first days have been spent recovering from the exertion (and the infection) of the last days of the old year; looking back rather than looking forward. I worked my way through my first book of January – Babel  by RF Kuang – and started my second – The Others of Edenwell by Verity M. Holloway. I have managed a few small writing sessions and a bit of knitting, but much of the week has been spent sneezing, resting, entertaining children and ruling on whether or not it's time for another snack. It may not be quite the way I wanted to begin, but it's what I can manage right now.

Thankfully, the thing about a new year is that each one has 365 days (or, in this case, 366). In other words, there are many, many days ahead for me to make the progress I want to make. It’s true that I’m working to a deadline on this redraft, but the date is set mainly by my own impatience, and if an even-slower-than-usual start to the year means that I need another few weeks, then nothing will come tumbling down.

It's funny, though, isn't it? Putting all this pressure on ourselves based on a completely arbitrary date on a calendar. Really, I suppose it makes no more and no less sense to be having a new start on the 1st January than it does on any other day of the year. Perhaps I'll hit the ground running when the daffodils bloom, instead.

Speaking of pressure, so much of the conversation at this time of the year is about willpower, as if sheer force of will alone is enough to change your life. In many ways, I'm sure it is. But unfortunately, there are plenty of life's realities that can't be changed, no matter how hard we might will them to. For one thing, I cannot think myself better, no matter what the positive thinking brigade might like to think. I cannot make a decision to have more energy than I have, just like I cannot decide for there to be hours in the day or more days in the week. Some things just are the way they are, however determined we might be for them to be otherwise.

And so, all we can do is focus on the parts we can control. With this in mind, I'm reminding myself of all the things I already know about writing: that it takes time to build a novel up layer by layer, that other people’s creative routines only seem better because of a grass is greener effect, that there is a time and a place for perfectionism in writing and that often, the reality of writing (and life!) is simply committing to try again and again and again.

Anyway, my point – if I have one – is that the start of January can be simultaneously a really hopeful and a really difficult time. If you're throwing yourself into the new year with excitement and inspiration; I'm with you in spirit! Equally, if you haven't quite managed to start the way you hope to go on, know that I'm right there with you, too.

May 2024 bring us peace, progress, ceasefires and lots of really, really good books.

1. This is both my second ever covid infection and my second of this academic year. It seems that an infection last September and a vaccine booster in October didn’t stop me from catching it again in the end days of December, but perhaps those facts have contributed to me having an easier time with it this time around. I’m very lucky that it looks like this bout will only derail my week, not my month or my year or my decade. There’s an awful lot of covid around at the moment, though, and it’s well worth repeating that the risk of developing significant post viral fatigue increases each time you catch it. I know that it might seem like a real drag for me to keep bringing this up… but as someone who’s had ME/CFS for almost 16 years, trust me when I say I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.