Thank God February is Over!
- John Baumeister
- Feb 27
- 3 min read
I don’t usually feel that strongly about a month, but this year it felt heavier than I expected. I was driving when I heard the news about Robert Carradine. I actually said, “What?” out loud. Then, almost immediately, “Holy cow… a Carradine? Kung Fu’s brother?” That’s how our generation processes things. One minute you’re back in Revenge of the Nerds, the next you’re thinking about Kung Fu and realizing the people who framed your youth are aging right alongside you. It catches you off guard.
February has started to do that to me too.
It’s not sickness — our family rarely gets sick. It’s something else. The light is thin. The holidays are long gone. The calendar feels empty. There’s no built-in lift. Just gray mornings and early sunsets.
Then there’s the practical weight. Taxes for two companies and our home. Government forms. Deadlines. Anything involving the IRS gives me the willies. I want everything correct. I double-check. I imagine some strange letter arriving that requires hours of unraveling. It never actually happens, but my mind runs the scenario anyway. And when business slows even a little after the holidays, I can feel 2009 stir — the year our first company failed.
Everything has always worked out. Every time. But that memory still whispers.
When it does, I hear my father-in-law’s voice. He used to say, in the most steady way, “Everything will be OK.” Not as a slogan. Not as denial. Just quiet certainty from a man who had lived long enough to know that panic rarely predicts reality. I didn’t realize how much that grounded me until he wasn’t here to say it anymore. Now I borrow his voice. When the old fear creeps in, I let him answer it.
This isn’t something only men feel, but I do think we men have a tendency to keep the heavier thoughts internal. We’ll talk about travelling, weather, workouts, the next outing — but the quiet fear about providing, about losing ground, about not being enough? That usually stays in our own heads. We’re wired to handle it. So we carry it.
Maybe that’s also why my wife and I love Nordic thrillers so much. We are totally into them. Snow blowing sideways in Iceland. Isolated villages. Detectives staring into the distance near a frozen fjord. Everyone wearing wool sweaters and looking mildly haunted. There’s something strangely comforting about watching a story set somewhere even colder and more isolated than Chicago. At least we’re not tracking a suspect across a frozen volcano at midnight. Perspective helps.
Still, winter here feels different as I age. I chose Chicago and I love it. But I finally understand my parents when they said the cold lands differently over time. It does. The wind feels sharper. The snow less charming. I’m not becoming a snowbird, but I respect February more than I used to.
And this is where the Greenland Sharks quietly change the month.
We show up at 7:15 a.m. (But anytime after is fine) on Fridays for breakfast. Grown men setting alarms in the dark just to sit together over coffee and eggs. That alone says something. There’s no agenda. No program. No motivational talk. When my wife asks what we discussed, I’ll often say, “I can’t remember.” And it’s true. Not because it didn’t matter, but because it wasn’t transactional. We don’t discuss politics. We’re not solving the world’s problems. We’re just talking.
It’s brotherhood without theatrics. Nothing forced. Nothing cheesy. The only cheese is on the grits.
And somehow that’s enough.
February may always feel like a long gray stretch. The taxes will still need filing. Business will ebb and flow. The wind will still come off the lake like it owns the place. And somewhere, news will remind us again that time keeps moving.
But I’ve learned this: if I anchor the month with small, steady things — Friday breakfast at 7:15, a laugh across the table, my father-in-law’s calm voice in my head reminding me everything will be OK — the weight shifts.
We may not always say the scary parts out loud. But we don’t have to carry them alone.
And that makes my February a little less cold.
About Greenland Sharks
Greenland Sharks is a Chicago men's group who value friendship, experiences, and the long swim. Just a crew that shows up. No speeches. No name tags. No nonsense.
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