I can never quite decide if I like this time of year or not.
On one hand, I’m ready. After more than a month of building toward Christmas—decorating every surface, planning gatherings, cooking special meals, and trying to soak in all the magic—there’s a sense of emotional whiplash when it all stops.

One day the house is glowing with twinkle lights and festive clutter, and the next, the calendar is empty and the tree feels… enormous. Decorative, yes. But also, intrusive. In the harsh light of a looming new year, the garland feels more gawdy than glitzy; overstimulating instead of nostalgic.

I start craving clear counters. An empty mantle. Less visual noise. I want my living room back. I want space to breathe.
And yet, there’s a letdown too.

All the anticipation is gone. The parties are over. The special meals are finished. All that’s left is jeans that are too tight, and pine needles that never fully get swept out of the carpet. After weeks of buildup, we’re abruptly returned to normal life—packed lunches, ordinary dinners, unremarkable evenings. The house is quieter. The days feel longer. The sparkle is quite literally gone.

January ushers in a fresh start. But also leads us to a strange middle place: both relieved and sad. Ready for normal, but not ready to let go.

I want the clean-slate feeling a new year promises, but I also want to linger in the glow of Christmas just a little longer. I want forward momentum without losing the warmth of what just was. And if I’m honest, that tension makes me uncomfortable.

I don’t love in-between seasons.

I like categories. I like things to fit neatly into place. Maybe that’s why I’ve never quite known what to do with lefse. Is it bread? Dessert? An appetizer? It somehow manages to be all of those and none of them at the same time—and that ambiguity unsettles me more than it should.
January feels like that.

It doesn’t belong to the excitement of December or the promise of spring. It’s quieter. Plainer. Less impressive. It asks us to live without constant celebration—to find our footing again when the music stops and the decorations come down.

This in-between season forces us to sit with ourselves. With our homes stripped back to basics. With routines that don’t feel special yet. With lives that aren’t lit up by events or gatherings or holidays to anticipate.
And that can feel uncomfortable.

But I’m learning that discomfort doesn’t always mean something is wrong. Sometimes it just means something is settling.

I think there’s an invitation here, even if it doesn’t come wrapped in sparkle. An invitation to learn how to live without constant stimulation. To discover whether joy can exist without an occasion attached to it. To ask ourselves who we are when the house is quiet and the calendar is blank.

This stillness is not the same as emptiness, and it’s a place where clarity grows. Where roots deepen. Where we learn to be content not because everything is exciting, but because everything is enough.
That kind of peace doesn’t arrive loudly. It doesn’t announce itself with parties or traditions. It grows slowly, in the ordinary days, when we choose to show up anyway.

January reminds me that contentment isn’t built during the highlight reel moments of life. It’s built in the quieter stretches—when we learn to love our surroundings without embellishment, to enjoy people without a reason to celebrate, and to find meaning in days that look unremarkable to the average observer.
This season is awkward. It might always will be.

But maybe that’s not a flaw. Maybe it’s a chance to reset our expectations, clear our spaces, and practice being at peace when life is simple instead of spectacular.

The decorations will come back. The celebrations will return. There will be plenty of moments that ask us to go all out again.
For now, I’m learning to sit in the in-between—the “lefse of life”—to let the quiet do its work, even when it feels unfamiliar.

Join me next week when I examine how this in between time affects the body, and how Cornerstone Chiropractic can meet you in the gap.

For more on life in North Dakota, and developing a positive mindset about where you are join me online at amyallender.com or on Facebook and Instagram @heyminot.