South: The Geography of Return - Peony Magazine

 

January is often framed as a month of forward motion, a relentless push toward a new you that stands somewhere in the shimmering, distant future. We are told to look ahead, to purge the old, and to burn the maps of where we’ve been. But in the deep, heavy silence of mid-winter, this forward gaze can feel cold and hollow. It is hard to run toward a new version of yourself when the ground is frozen, and the air is thin.

In this season of quiet recalibration, the most vital direction isn’t forward: it is South.

In the symbolic compass of the soul, South is the direction of origin. It is the path back to the heat of the sun, to the soil that raised us, and to the versions of ourselves we left behind in the rush to “improve.” To turn south in January is to realize that you cannot build a new house without honoring the foundation, and you cannot start a new chapter if you have forgotten the language of the book.

The Myth of the Blank Slate

The world tells us that January 1st is a blank slate. We are encouraged to treat our history like a skin to be shed. But there is a particular loneliness in trying to be entirely new. When we cut ourselves off from our past in the name of progress, we lose our insulation. We find ourselves standing in the January wind without the coat of our own experiences.

Turning South is a refusal to be a stranger to yourself. It is the understanding that the new version of you isn’t a replacement, but an evolution.

When the world feels emotionally cold and the pressure to perform changes into a burden, looking South helps us remember where we came from. We look back at the versions of ourselves that survived more brutal winters than this one. We look back at the girl who found joy in small things, or the younger man who knew how to rest without guilt. We realize that the warmth we are searching for isn’t waiting for us in February; it is something we already carry inside.

Memory as a Compass

In the post-holiday stillness, when the world’s noise has faded, memory becomes our primary fuel.

We often think of looking back as a sign of being stuck, but in January, it’s how we find our bearings. We remember the kitchen smells of a childhood home, the specific way a particular friend laughs, or the feeling of a hard-won victory from years ago.

By turning South, we gather these glowing embers to light a fire in the present. We ask ourselves: What did the old version of me know that the new version of me has forgotten? 

Perhaps it was the ability to sit in the dark without fear, or the wisdom to know that growth happens underground long before it breaks the surface.

The Integration of Self

Starting a new version of yourself doesn’t require an invitation to an identity crisis. Instead, it requires a turning toward.

The South represents the parts of us that are already warm, like the passions that never quite went out, the values that haven’t shifted, the connections that keep us tethered to the earth. When we orient ourselves this way, the heaviness of January begins to feel less like a burden and more like a blanket. We are allowed to be still because we know exactly where we stand.

We stay human during this quietest part of winter by acknowledging that we are a collection of all the people we have ever been. We don’t have to outrun our ghosts; we can invite them to the hearth.

More: https://peonymagazine.com/special-edition/south-the-geography-of-return/