I’ve always been curious about where things come from.
Growing up, my mom took me to bookstores the way some parents took their kids to the park. I came home with stacks of books, questions, and stories that stayed with me. In seventh grade, I chose Latin as my third language, not because it was practical, but because it felt like a door into something older and deeper.
That choice introduced me to mythology, history, and the idea that language carries memory. That words, names, and even months hold stories about how people once understood the world.
This year, I want to explore that curiosity one month at a time. Not as a lesson, but as a reflection. A way of noticing how language, history, and time quietly shape how we move through our lives.
January is named after Janus, a Roman god with two faces. One looks back. The other looks forward. Janus was not the god of action or speed. He was the god of transitions, of doors, of moments where one thing ends and another begins.
It feels fitting that the year begins with a figure who does not rush forward, but pauses.
January was not always the first month. In the earliest Roman calendars, the year began in March, a month associated with war, movement, and action.
It wasn’t until around 153 BCE that January 1 officially became the start of the political year, when newly elected Roman officials began taking office. Later, under Julius Caesar’s calendar reforms, January was firmly established as the beginning of the calendar year.
What matters is not the exact date of the change, but the shift in meaning. The year began not with battle or urgency, but with a pause. With looking backward and forward at the same time. The year began not with noise, but with thought.
I like that.
Modern January often feels loud. We’re encouraged to transform ourselves overnight, as if change only counts when it’s dramatic and immediate. We’re told to reset, improve, plan, and optimize. But historically, January was a threshold. A moment to look back at what has passed and to look forward at what might come, without demanding certainty.
Learning a language feels similar. Beginnings are rarely confident. Progress is quiet. Understanding comes slowly, almost without noticing, until one day you realize you are standing somewhere new. That realization has made me gentler with beginnings, both in language and in life.
As this year begins, I find myself thinking less about goals and more about awareness. About standing in that in-between space. Looking back without regret. Looking forward without urgency.
January, after all, was never meant to rush us forward. It was meant to help us notice where we are.
What might change if we allowed ourselves to begin the year that way?
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