It’s so pleasing to have blue skies and warm air, to notice the sudden growth in the garden and to feel that same vitalising energy in myself.
Being aware of the subtle shifts - and then the sudden change! - helps me feel grounded, in my body and on the earth. It’s also comforting to know these energetic benefits exist because I chose to go slow in winter; I’m relishing in the opening - the motivation and bright ideas! It can be challenging to live seasonally in the busy world, but nurturing an awareness of how we shift in response to changes in light and weather is a worthwhile first step. You understand yourself a little better with this noticing, I think.
The past few days have been so warm, I’ve had the whole house open. I’ve taken off my winter wool socks and I’m spreading my bare toes on the floorboards and the grass as I move from room to room and out to the garden.
For the many years I dreamed of owning my own home, I thought mostly about the ways in which I would improve it. I envisioned the paint tins and walls hooks, the homely soft furnishings and the meandering garden.
I didn’t anticipate that nothing - not even birthing and raising four children - would make me feel more like an adult than taking out a 30 year loan with the bank. Nor did I consider how we would wear ourselves into the home; footprints on floorboards, walls marked with dirty fingers; everything that exists under the roof now incused with memories. I didn’t consider that small jobs - any jobs, really - would cost hundreds of dollars unless you have the patience to wait for whatever it is you need; a front door, lattice for climbing beans, a new tap to replace the one that drips (and has been ‘fixed’ multiple times).
Over the past few years I’ve spent countless hours watching the light and observing the wind direction and thinking about how I live in response to the world, or at least the small pocket of green and blue I know so well. This is not something I do because I have swathes of time, rather it’s a habit I’ve nurtured and one I practise in the quiet moments of my days. It roots me in place, reminds me of what matters when I’m caught up in what doesn’t.
My house is not unlike my body — life and light etched on the surface — and just like we live in a world that is constantly selling us improved spaces to live in, the same prolific message applies to our bodies; who we are and what we choose to do each day. I think our collective weariness is in part a response to this messaging: to always be striving.