Every year, in the second week of February, the light returns to my flat. After a long winter where the sun sits so low it never manages to stream into the windows, I don’t just look forward to this, I celebrate it almost ceremoniously. Sitting on my back patio when it’s still way too cold to do so, cleaning the French doors in my bedroom, and delighting in clearing all the dust, cat hair, and hand prints that the darkness has obscured since early November. My partner says I begin behaving just like our cat, and I take that as a compliment.
If all goes according to plan, we won’t be living in this flat much longer. I have approximately 10,000 things to do: packing, fixing, moving, and clearing amidst working, parenting, and writing. It feels, in a word, impossible. Particularly in the dregs of late winter which, as someone astutely pointed out, “is not the time of year for thriving” — especially if you have small, virus-laden children.
However, inspired by my recent conversation about meditation with Naomi Annand, I’ve been trying to dwell in this light nonetheless. To put my body in its path for five minutes on these sunny late winter mornings, and be present with myself.
There’s a moment in the transcript of my interview with Naomi that I didn’t include in the published version, where I explain the image or point of focus I’ve been working with recently while trying to meditate. It was inspired by a class I took months ago with a wonderfully creative teacher, Elisa de Grey, who teaches at Naomi’s studio.
It goes like this: You imagine that in your heart’s center, inside a deep and dark cave, there’s a source of light and warmth. Emanating from that source is every quality you could hope to have in your life: love, generosity, patience, tenderness, care, rest, compassion, stillness. It’s all there no matter what trauma, shame, or sadness is layered on top; how bad your life seems on the outside; or how much skepticism you carry. Just as no one earns the incredible, life-giving feeling of apricity — an underused word which means the warmth of the sun in winter — no one earns the right gain access to the deep place. It’s just there. All the time. Waiting for you to show up.
When I meditate I try to drop in and be there. But more specifically, I try to feel that that place is me, despite how I may behave on the outside. When I’m practicing, I think of the words or qualities that come to mind that day, usually things my life is sorely lacking: calm, non-reactivity, joy. And then after a while, I stop thinking so much and let that awareness — which feels something like warmth — radiate outwards from my center.
I don’t do this because I expect to walk away as some beatific saint, imbued with goodness from my core. I do it because without it, I might go an entire week without remembering those qualities are available to me. When I’ve managed to sit like this in the last couple weeks, I notice there’s a resonance with the physical warmth of the sun on my face, and the warmth of that place deep inside. I like the idea that I can cultivate this internally as I receive it externally. Even though I don’t make it onto my mat every day, it’s a good incentive to return as much as I can.
My almanac reminds me that on March 20, we’ll “step optimistically into the light half of the year,” a time when “we transition from our inner world of dreaming to the outer world of action […] supported in these endeavours with more daylight for the task at hand.”
It’s becoming trendier to pay attention to days like the solstice and equinox, and to live a life more aligned with the physical cycles that govern pretty much everything that’s not under capitalism’s grip. But perhaps trendy is the wrong word, because this is literally how human beings were designed to live, and did so for centuries until rather recently. My ceremonial greeting of the light on my bedroom wall isn’t just some elder millennial affectation, but a remembering, perhaps from deep inside.
It’s a sun salutation, a crossing of a threshold, a well-timed reminder that eventually the light outside will mirror that which can always be found within.
Things I enjoyed reading
“Tech is not supposed to be a master tool to colonize every aspect of our being. We need to reevaluate how it serves us.” On the new luddites. [The Atlantic]
I lost many hours of my life reading the comments and Reddit threads about how this personal finance columnist was conned into handing over $50,000 cash in a shoebox. After wading through all the discourse, I gotta say: I do not think this could happen to me. [The Cut]
The very wise
on being honest about the energy that caretaking requires, and how to factor that in to your work week and routine. I’m very much still learning how to do this. [Not Too Busy to Write]On the (exhausting) state of the personal brand in 2024. [Vox]
“There are two ‘conflicts’ going on … There’s the original conflict - the war, the occupation, the genocide, the climate calamity or the political issue. And then there’s the horrible conflict playing out among us witnessing the first conflict from our screens.”
nails it — and offers solid advice on how to proceed. [This is Precious]Other than what I published in late October, I haven’t written much in this newsletter about the unrelenting horror in Gaza. That’s not because I’m not sickened by it, or not paying attention to it.
elucidates many of my reasons for not doing so in this careful and clear-eyed piece. [Peak Notions]
Things I enjoyed listening to
I was shocked by this investigation into the prevalence of unnecessary medical procedures, particularly surgically-performed tongue ties for newborns. It showcases some really excellent old-school reporting, which resulted from a tip from (who else?) a new mom. [New York Times]
Patrick Radden Keefe’s latest New Yorker piece about a London teen’s dark turn into the city’s world of oligarchs and dirty money was so engrossing, I listened to the audio version after I finished reading it online. [New Yorker]
Word soup
“A purchased luxury often feels like falling for a simulation or advertising. Sneaky luxury feels like a gift from god, a secret room. Luxury and ease is everywhere, and if you focus on it, it will keep multiplying. The keepers of sneaky luxury will open their doors because the joy and love you create in response to their offerings is their fuel.” —@sighswoon (p.s. read the whole passage!)
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Rosie, despite being "one of those people" who doesn't loathe winter (wrote about that a month or so ago, in fact) everything about your approach to seeking warmth and light, internally and externally, feels exactly right. This IS how human beings (and all other creatures) were designed to live. I get there some days. Others I'm trapped behind the walls of my excuses. Thanks for the nudge. And, I really appreciated that piece by Laura Kennedy when it was first published. It was nice to revisit it again now, having recently felt the unbearable sadness of feeling like I can't do enough but still trying to do what I can. (https://elizabethbeggins.substack.com/p/ants-for-gods-sake) This line impressed me most: "I’m not interested in reflecting what you think back at you, or in drawing in readers who align entirely with my own perspective on every issue."
Appreciate!
Oh man, that The Cut article was an amazing read. I haven't gone into the comments ... !