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Signs of Spring
Do you suddenly hate all your cozy sweaters and resent your insulating beanie?
Do the boots you’ve loved all winter suddenly feel too tight?
Does your day-to-day simultaneously feel like not enough and too much?
Do you scream when you get invited to another event that involves small talk with someone’s aunt?
Do you collapse if you shovel even a spoonful of snow?
You may be suffering from SPRING MALAISE!
The only cure is warmth, and it’ll get here. Sometime.
In the meantime, let’s stage a collective rebellion by ditching our heavy coats.
Daffodils and robins aren’t the first sign of spring.
It’s trash, revealed after a long hibernation. Just like us.
Welcome to the sunlight, gang.
Once, during a particularly gross time, my friend Bailey introduced me to keeping a Sunshine List: Good things! Reminders of the lightness of life! Here are a few from mine:
I’m working on a stat-heavy Annual Report zine at work, a project that feels unwieldy every year. I’m writing this peppy ‘let’s do this all again!’ summary of work, while wanting to ditch everything. But you know what? I’ve pulled it off every year, for 3 years. It’s practice, mostly.
The audience is primarily small business owners. People with long histories of sticking it out through lean years. People more tied to this place than me. I’m thinking about what it means to stay in a place even when it feels dumb and soggy. It’s maintenance, mostly.
Sometimes I feel too young for maintenance. Baby showers, engagement parties.
Too young to have old friends. Exhausted by keeping track of it all.
It’s complicated further because I also really love the deep commitments that warrant these appearances.
I text friends the way I mow my lawn—never often enough, but good once set in motion. I want to live in a world that is cared for, so I must care for it.
There’s a reason we use the term Creative Practice.
You’re doing the same thing over and over.
It looks like nothing changes.
But there are imperceptible shifts. You get better at your craft.
It’s only visible when you compare early work with the new, years later.
The really important things build slowly. Friendships, vocations, belonging.
I’m here, I’m practicing.
Making a frittata for the baby shower. Prepping the futon for visiting family. Attending worship night. Texting a friend. Mailing a postcard. Mending mittens. Painting trash. Reading about City Council. Coding invoices. Compiling social media impressions reports. Tweeting about craft beer. Writing an Annual Report story that makes small biz owners feel seen.
There’s always something next—a brochure design deadline, a life stage, a garage that needs cleaning.
When it feels like too much, I find comfort in this Sabbath framing: Rest as if the work was done. Pair maintenance with rest. It’s the quiet, important stuff that holds.
I hope you can see that some maintenance you’re doing right now is good practice, too. Thanks for making through Spring muck with me this month.
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