The five year plan referred to in my last blog – i.e. my intention to survive January – is going well. It may be time to note some wins before tripping over February’s Groundhog Day and repeating my January pity party.

Firstly a shout out to all of us without webbed feet who have survived a UK January. It has been a wet old slog – even in comparison to other Januaries we have Januaried together. Well done us. Admittedly my January doom fest has been indulgent – quite frankly I have been milking it for this month has gone quite well. I use moaning as self-regulation; I have friends who have not had this luxury for the New Year has greeted them with wet kipper after wet kipper and still they have soldiered on with grace. Love you.

I remind myself that my blogs initially started as a means of getting out of my head at a challenging time in my life and that the dragonfly was chosen to symbolise transformation, adaptability and reflection. My sister and best friend encouraged me to ‘just write’ and noted that they would tell me if my writing ever sounded bitter and twisted – apparently they would let irreverence pass unchecked. When I chose the name for the blog they did not share the fun fact that female dragonflies sometimes dive to the ground and lie motionless, pretending to be dead (I understand this to be a dramatic ruse on the part of a female dragonfly to escape persistent males, but it is not something I have ever needed to practise).

I started the new year with no resolution but a commitment to take or make opportunities to connect. Without wishing to blow glitter up my own proverbial, this has been one of the best commitments I have ever made because people are just lush and they make connections very easy indeed.

The best January connection has been crafted by an old, old school friend (ok, less of the old) now living in Australia. Following his understandable failure to join the 50th anniversary school reunion last summer, (if you can stomach a long blog, read about it here: https://thedragonflyjar.com/2025/07/09/the-real-1975/) he set up a Facebook group for our intake to reconnect and share our memories. If you ignore the horrific attire and dubious hair cuts that our shared photos evidence (then, not now…), reading the posts has been a tonic that January very much needed. I think we turned out alright – even if it transpires that I was not a rebel without a cause but a nerdy book worm who was oblivious to the presence of a smokers’ hut or any contraband school trip booze. I must have had my head in a rule book.

My next favourite connection has been the launch of a student wellbeing research project in the school where I now teach. It may be the offer of a few free Amazon vouchers, but so far the interest has been encouraging. One of the students said, ‘at last we get to tell you oldies what our mental health is like; you will need to buckle up and listen for once’. I cannot imagine anyone talking to us about mental health back in the 1970’s and I would have loved to leave school with some strategies tucked up my sleeve, even if my school blouse was hideous and yellow. I am optimistic that our students are going to share their useful life hacks rather than point me in the direction of a hidden vape hut.

At the risk of sounding like The Child Catcher I have had some other lovely connections this month with children – not the students at school but random young whipper snappers who have skipped across my path. When I spotted a girl in bright pink boots and a unicorn bonnet tiggering through a local book shop gushing, ‘I just love books, daddy!’I stopped to tell her that I did too. Once her dad had realised I wasn’t stalking his children, he was only too happy to tell me how the family had built a book cave in this unicorn’s bedroom and now she and her brother would now not stop reading. (I promise I did not ask to babysit). The exchange reminded me how little praise you get as a parent, that everyone needs a unicorn/dragonfly bonnet in their wardrobe and that we all deserve a book cave (no smoking, no booze, we will let rules control the fun). I am hopeful that this female unicorn may be a wellbeing ambassador for future generations.

I also seem to have connected with a lot of food this month – my defence is that this has caused me to leave the house during a very wet and dark time of year and that I am a much better listener when my belly is full. I have enjoyed so many hospitality conversations over the last four weeks that I feel I may now have an additional front of house retirement option. I bonded with the head waiter at our local Italian to such an extent that he literally sang the specials board into a delightful aria (I resisted telling him that I was vegetarian so that I could be treated to his full operatic rendition of the complete menu – it seemed rude to interrupt). My applause was rewarded with an extra portion of of pesto ravioli and an impressive bowl of olives. If I sunk to the floor on this occasion it was because my belly needed support.

Following on with the power of food to connect, this month I have realised that if you order a bowl of Greek yoghurt and granola for brunch you look much healthier than if you order a full English but really you are getting to eat breakfast dessert in public without any judgemental side eye. At my age brunch is the new dinner and I get pathetically excited when my breakfast bowl gets pimped – throw in an Americano and you will have this dragonfly’s undivided attention. The only downside of my brunch wellbeing hack was experienced when returning to our favourite cafe last weekend after a very long absence. The manageress seemed overjoyed to see our return, but I soon realised that her joy was really directed at Himself rather than me; while I initially enjoyed the the arrival of my rainbow-themed breakfast bowl (see photo) the manageress insisted on then drawing a chair up to our table and updating Himself – in graphic detail – on her considerable list of aches, allergies and viruses. Himself valiantly tried to include me in this conversation (his scrambled eggs were congealing and he was starting to reflex gag), but the Manageress resisted every attempt to listen to my considerable woo woo medical knowledge. She did not draw breath. Reader, this is my defence for holding my phone in the photo; I clearly have nothing to teach our young people.

It would have been very, very easy to stay under the duvet this January but lovely connections – and the need to pay for the food that has fuelled me through much of the month – have coaxed me to the brink of February. At my age it takes too much energy to get back on the wagon when I fall off and I am much too lazy for that. Perhaps laziness – in January – demonstrates flex. I might share this wellbeing nugget with the students at school – or post on our old timer reunion Facebook group. This dragonfly has damp wings but she will not be lying motionless much longer for she is preparing for a February relaunch and has started researching book cave options.