March is full of longing in Michigan. First tastes of spring, final throes of winter, and enough tension to wonder if the world will ever feel alive again. You’d think the sunlight on deadened branches would bring hope, but sometimes it feels as though it only highlights how empty and barren everything feels.
March 1st, I leapt out of bed. The weekend had been bright and the month of “arrival” had finally begun. I poured a piping hot cup of coffee and turned to take in the fresh landscape that certainly would herald spring. Except it didn’t.
Snow had been falling all night. Far beneath me, men and women were frantically brushing off their buried cars, stamping their feet, doing odd little jigs to keep warm as they took all of the needed precautions to leave for work.
“Oh,” my shoulders slumped. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.” I then proceeded to move about in a depressed state, pulling out my down vest, lacing up snow boots and tucking my hair up in a knitted cap, all to wrap me away from the frigid world yet again as I prepared to trek to work.
Naturally, I’m a pretty bubbly person. Joy is a constant percolating force inside of me. Friends joke about it, colleagues comment on it, strangers have laughed at me as they’ve born witness to the exuberance on trains, at a brewery high top table or making a purchase at a store that will be “the perfect gift!!!”
But what happens to joy when it’s disappointed? When everything goes south and life is suddenly not at all the way it was supposed to be?
For me, I find I have to face the death directly. I bundle myself up, prepare for the cold and try to meet it bravely.
The bravery is for standing against my own inner critic and for comforting my own damaged heart. I have to own and engage both. When I face death, even if it is just the death of something I imagined, sometimes it seems the only thing to feel is: I’ve been hurt. I’ve been fooled, or worse, foolish. And I’ve been betrayed by the light inside of me.
This is what I believe: if that voice gets all the power, I never get to hope again in spring. Because spring now comes with qualifiers and alarm bells. Spring requires control and “testing” people to prove their worth. Spring means anxiety for my own desire and delight, because those two things are where all the trouble started.
I don’t want to hold myself that way. I don’t want to hold the people who’ve hurt me or the people who could hurt me that way either.
It’s March. It’s the month of waiting. First tastes of spring, final throes of winter, and enough tension to wonder if my heart feels alive again. Who I am this month is important. How I hold myself here in the in between matters. Because March, like every hope worth having and like every road to joy, comes with steps forward and steps that move backward.
It comes with familiar fears that the winter might not end. It comes with easy hatred for what is light and resilient and lovely in me. And I get to choose how I hold my heart in this space before arrival.
“You are gorgeous,” I can say, “You are courageous as you feel afraid. Your longing is welcome here,” I can affirm. And as I keep waiting and bundling for the snows that blow, I can keep my heart warm and hold it softly, ready for the moment when down vests and snow boots aren’t needed in order to tread where I long to go.
Katy Johnson lives, dreams, writes, and edits in a messy, watercolored world. She’s a 26 year old, discovering her hope, her longings, and the wild spaces in her own heart. Her favorite creative project right now is called The Someday Writings, and someday, she may let those writings see the light of day. For now, she shares her thoughts here.
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Yes, you are “gorgeous, courageous and your longing welcome here”…how lovely to hear that you are “holding my heart softly…” It is a beautiful heart. Love to you, dear Katy…Christine
Thanks, Christine. 😉 Always love to have you reading!
Your spirit is delightful and courageous ~ I love how you desire to honor it.
Thanks, Elaine. It’s certainly a journey, but one I’m grateful for.
Katy, I, too, have an Inner Critic who wants to hog all the channels. Thank you for these affirming words about holding hope. You are gorgeous. You are courageous. You are waiting well. Melodie
Dear Melodie, Thank you. That voice can feel so loud sometimes, can’t it? It is good to be in space where I let that go for something more kind.
“Spring means anxiety for my own desire and delight, because those two things are where all the trouble started.” Trouble and so much goodness…unwinding this is tricky. I love the joy I can hear in your words, even interspersed with the anxiety.
Thanks, Janet. I love that the joy is there to be felt, haha. The disappointment doesn’t win. Even if it has its days. And that is pretty amazing 😉
Holding your heart soft feels like a bold declaration of hope.
*katy exhales* feels good to hear that. Thank you, Joanna.
Precious Katy, Precious Heart. The beauty in your words and your heart take my breath away. Thank you for sharing and for the reminders that “…I get to choose how I hold my heart…”, as well as how I “…hold the people who’ve hurt me or the people who could hurt me…” in the face of “death”. Kindness…love…hope…beauty…
You are kind, Christine. Thanks so much for reading!
Katy, your words capture my heart, holding death and desire, the waiting.. I’m gripped as you speak, ” “You are courageous as you feel afraid. Your longing is welcome here,” I can affirm. ” Thank you for sharing dear friend.
Thanks, Anna. I know you know the tension of “both/and” too. Love to journey next to you.
Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!
^^^^^^LOL! Love 🙂