Spranged

I thought today was the first day of spring. It was yesterday.

Not to be totally "Florals? For spring! Groundbreaking" but is there anything more exhilarating than being sprunged - spranged! - from the death-grip of winter with at least the theoretical idea of warmth, even when it corresponds with Mercury sliding right into retrograde? Which is, btw, today, I checked.

(I grew up in a city located in what is called the "snowbelt" of Ontario, Canada, and once asked my dad, a true-grit type of dude who could presumably live wherever, why we lived there, and he said "Because it makes you tough." Got it.) 

In my own life, circumstances have aligned in a way that suggests, to me, that I should be respecting this as a specific time of pause: I was supposed to be getting a puppy this weekend, but a flu that came with some rescue dogs from China (apparently?) precipitated a delay, which is logical but has left me feeling heart-crushed and hollowed out; I'm not going to therapy for a while, because I need weekdays to bloom like a blank piece of paper unfolding, in order to get the amount of work done that I am lately expecting of myself; I'm working hard to maintain my 2018 guided-missile word, which is "Whelmed," and to sit quietly following a six-year upheaval where everything in my life that could have changed did, and more to the point, following a six-month go where I (I guess "we" but I always resent a "we" in these contexts) bought a house, moved, and renovated it.

So, spring: to Andy Cohen's Instagram stories, mostly the ones where he walks his dog in the morning while he's freeballing a cup of coffee (Freeballing: bringing a regular unlidded mug of coffee into the world), reporting on his neighbor's trash pile; doing every kind of meditation; exploiting my Amazon Prime membership; perfecting the Tracy Anderson method; the Real Housewives of Atlanta and Bev Hills and Pump Rules reunions; the “affective” experience of luxury; breath work; and physical mail. To being "whelmed."

 

 

Kate Carraway