Oh the month of February. Even my tiny newsletter has gone sleepy in the winter months and finds your inbox 9 days later than my commitment to connect with you on at least 10 of the 12 1st’s of this year. I’m not really a procrastinator. I learned early in my college career that I preferred not to pull all-nighters, only a few all-dayers and a lot of water and sleep.
Part of the reason for the delay is that I’m in start up mode. I know that seems odd given that I’ve had a practice for many years now, but the combination of the new space and a strong wish to flood the world with positivity has fueled a desire to increase my understanding of just about everything.
I’m taking classes, I’m talking to people, I’m seeing clients, I’m teaching workshops. So much vigor! It’s no surprise that I am struggling. Winter is not the season for start up mode. It’s the season for long sleeps and quiet recovery. It is the time to sit and watch the snow fall.
So on Monday, I did just that. I sat as flakes dropped from the sky and made their melty way toward the earth vanishing from the world almost as soon as they arrived. In snowflake time, life is constant motion, a lilting and yielding to the forces of existence and then expiration in little more than 2 human breaths.
This increment of life, driven by nature, unstandardized and indeterminate reminded me of how I used to move when I was a kid. I would head down into the basement and pull a piece of plywood over the damp cement floor to practice tap. There was no clock down there, and of course no phone or television in those days — only me and my feet moving and creating rhythm until my little person body was tired and ready for bed. It was snowflake time measured in clicks and turns and joy and mastery and very often exhaustion.
When I think about my adult life, there is almost no time like this. Even the power of winter doesn’t disrupt the rhythms of city life enough for us to remember a time before time.
Although subconsciously, I think my work holds this, I intend to make a commitment to giving you a taste of snowflake time when we’re together, where moments are fleeting and precious, but can accumulate into something that blankets the world with calm.
Thank you for taking the time for me to say these things. I think of you fondly and look forward to seeing you at the studio soon.
With folded palms,