I don't really mind Winter all that much. I have a very nice heating blanket, a giant stash of tea and California wine, and I'm quite happy to watch a lot of Netflix and work my way through a stack of books with a warm dog body. My apartment is really lovely - a collection of cast off furniture painted quirky colors, candles, salt lamps and Buddha heads, well-worn books, slightly wild house plants and photos of people I love. It has been a healing haven for me this past year, and a place of comfort.
But something is shifting. There's a stirring as we walk through the Equinox. A distinct feeling that it's time to get out of the nest and go out into the world.
Awesome right? Nope. I've never liked early spring. I liken it to a bad boyfriend: unpredictable. messy. fickle. hot and cold. The mud, the fluctuating temperatures, the edge of scent in the unfrozen air. It just feels ... unsettling. The un-sureness of whether I should keep the windows closed or open them and put on a sweatshirt? Of whether I should take a nap under a blanket or go for a walk and let an almost chilly wind blow my hair back?
Spring is an inconvenient and unavoidable reminder that - at a certain point - hunkering down in the nest is stagnation, not healing work.
I'm in the process of doing projects for my coaching practice and healing work that feel like flopping failures as I try to make my way out of the nest. I'm tripping over my own feet as I work to change how I relate and speak truth in relationships. But (dammit spring) keeping the metaphorical windows closed and the blankets on recently stopped feeling comforting and started feeling like arrested development.
Spring is wobbly baby deer legs and tender green shoots peeking up out of the ground to see if it's safe. It's rising energy and transition into new, open life living. It's picking a tiny little change that pushes the edge of your certainty just a little. JUST enough to help you step forward into greater truth.
That shit annoys me. And invigorates me. To steal Wisconsin's motto: FORWARD.