In Bloom
Finding my flow for spring & its revelations
The absence of last week's entry still perplexes me.
I found myself in my room, poised to write, yet the words refused to materialize. Despite the flame of a fresh bergamot candle, meant to kindle inspiration, and the familiar melodies of my go-to playlist, I fell short of my creative aspirations, opting instead to indulge in early 2000s rom-coms like "Serendipity" on HBO Max.
I recall eagerly anticipating the onset of spring during my last writing session. However, since then, we've transitioned into its complicated phase—a period that consistently catches me off guard with its unforeseen obstacles.
Amidst the ever-changing weather patterns, from sudden flash-flood warnings to balmy 70-degree afternoons and brisk 30-degree evenings, my wardrobe has swiftly adapted. Each day presents a contemplation of whether to don a wool trench coat or opt for the ease of linen t-shirts and pants—yet, my appearance remains steadfast: hair neatly slicked back, minimal makeup, and my reliable corduroy brown shearling jacket.
Underneath, I layer a turtleneck dress repurposed into a sweater, paired effortlessly with loose-fit black slacks and brown leather shoes. Adorning my neck is my treasured gold necklace, alongside the broken gold watch I've been meaning to repair for the past six months.
“Just weeks ago, the city felt like a distant dream, and every spontaneous visit left me feeling adrift, like an actor without a script.”
Every morning, I start my journey to the city with the melodies of bossa nova tunes in my ears, providing an escape from the chilly winds around 8 am. Alternating between my personal playlist, "An Afternoon in Cesenatico," and podcasts like The New Yorker: Critics At Large, I've noticed that on busy mornings, podcasts ground me, while during quieter moments, music takes the lead.
Regardless of the hour or the ambiance, the scene that unfolds when I step off the bus remains constant—a mosaic of professionals, immersed in their devices yet navigating the streets with practiced precision. They move with purpose, pausing, checking both ways, and resuming their journey with determination.
Amidst this, carts brimming with burnt pretzels and assorted nuts emanate a familiar aroma of cinnamon and sugar. And weaving through the streets are the iconic yellow taxis, their vacant seats racing past hopeful pedestrians with outstretched hands.
Just weeks ago, the city felt like a distant dream, and every spontaneous visit left me feeling adrift, like an actor without a script. Lost in the hushed halls of the public library, surrounded by the scent of aging books, I found solace in novels amidst the company of students, remote professionals, and fellow explorers.
But things have changed.
There's intention behind my movements now. Deliberately planting professional seeds that would draw me back to the city, I never anticipated their rapid growth— at least not to this extent; and now, the majority of my day unfolds in the heart of the city, driven by necessity.
“There are facets of life that I've largely taken for granted…”
During this period, I've gradually come to realize that the city operates at a rhythm entirely distinct from what I've grown accustomed to, even prior to my injury. Working from home in recent years allowed me to establish my own tempo, one that naturally aligned with the cadence of my hometown—a blend of efficiency and leisure, where tasks were completed promptly yet moments were savored.
Despite developing an appreciation for this rhythm, I've found myself reflecting on it lately and grappling with a sense of disillusionment. When I sustained my injury back in October, I often felt like a passive observer rather than an active participant in life. However, as I've reintegrated myself into the hustle of daily life, particularly within the city environment, I can't help but wonder if the shift to remote work during the lockdown exacerbated this feeling.
There are facets of life that I've largely taken for granted, such as the daily commute, navigating office dynamics, and engaging in physical social gatherings. And while seemingly mundane, even small details like working from my room—a space of solitude—have had a profound impact.
Transitioning to remote work inadvertently transformed my bedroom into a makeshift office, where I found myself tethered to virtual meetings, emails, and an endless stream of tasks. Instead of being a space for relaxation, my bedroom became a constant reminder of looming deadlines, unfinished tasks, and the relentless demands of work.
It's something I think about a lot lately because despite residing just 30 minutes from the city center, I can scarcely recall the number of times I ventured there prior to two weeks ago.
It's not for lack of opportunity, but rather a matter of choice and circumstance. I once reflected on my relationship with my hometown, expressing,
"It's as if our familiarity with these places and people blinds us to their significance. We often chase distant horizons, convinced that the allure of the unknown is greater, only to discover that profound mysteries and treasures often lie in plain sight."
Excerpt from entry: Spiced Honey & Chamomile
And while I made this acknowledgment, I can't help but question if I truly embraced it.
Growing up in any metropolitan area, whether it's NYC, Los Angeles, Atlanta, or Chicago, fosters an awareness that people around the globe dream of experiencing what we often overlook. Yet, despite this awareness, a sense of routine becomes deeply embedded in our daily lives.
For me, places like Times Square, Madison Square Garden, and the Metropolitan Museum of Art are mere stops on a bus or a single train ride away, and I see this accessibility as both a gift and a challenge.
Because of my new connection to this city, I've come to understand that while [the city] itself may always appear ordinary, my bond with it is undergoing a transformation—and that realization has brought about a sense of pride and belonging.
There have been occasions since this realization where I get across the bridge that connects our worlds and find myself holding my breath. It's a brief moment that blends the comfort of familiarity with the excitement of discovery—a feeling that often evokes the essence of spring.
“…It's the small, intentional changes that make all the difference.”
For many of us, myself included, spring signifies the opportunity for fresh starts, whether they come in grand gestures or subtle shifts. Reflecting on my own experiences, I've realized that many of my most significant changes have stemmed from seemingly minor adjustments. I believe this holds true for readers of Armonía as well.
Often, we underestimate the potential of small actions to catalyze significant transformations in our lives. It's not always about the big moments; sometimes, it's the small, intentional changes that make all the difference.
Whether it's choosing a different route to work, exploring new places on weekends, or being more deliberate in our interactions and goals, these seemingly insignificant choices can lead to profound shifts in our journey towards growth and fulfillment.
Spring has indeed arrived, whether its arrival feels palpable or not, and we have three months stretching before us to contemplate what it may bring.
Had you told me last spring that over the next year I would walk away from decade-long relationships, only to find myself in some of the most beautiful connections, embark on the journey of starting a biweekly newsletter where I would express some of my most profound thoughts, and establish a digital community for myself, I would've been incredulous. Starting a book club with two of my closest friends and fracturing my foot right before my favorite holidays would have seemed like far-fetched scenarios. And experiencing my first Valentine’s Day without a Valentine’s in almost three years would’ve been a concept beyond belief.
I would've questioned how each moment unfolded, pondered what caused the sudden shifts, and wondered how to embrace the good without inviting the bad. Instead of simply living life, I would have likely tried to meticulously outline every detail, attempting to control the outcomes rather than allowing things unfold organically.
If you do anything this spring, plant the seeds of allowing life to surprise you. You don’t have to have a specific goal or aspiration in mind, but ask yourself what life would look like if you allowed things to unfold in your favor. If you practiced discernment over impulsivity, patience over haste, trust over doubt.
I've finally reached a point where I'm letting life figure things out for me; you can too.
Good Luck,
S.
PS. I'm not sure if I mentioned the book I’ve been reading, but it's titled ‘The Mythmakers’ by Keziah Weir. The review will be up in the next 2-3 weeks, but be sure to follow our official book club section for updates. To follow the club, simply click the subscribe button. If you're a new subscriber, you will initially be subscribed to the newsletter only. Click once more, and it will prompt you to choose other sections you'd like to subscribe to.
Thank you for the share. It’s interesting how spring is turbulent in both weather and relational upheaval. It’s a season of emergence. We get to see what arrives. The Mythmakers seems interesting. I look forward to the review.