Growing up in Northern Canada, Spring was something we waited for, longed after, and wouldn’t come soon enough. Since moving to the South, each year she shows up unexpectedly and sooner than anyone is predicting. It’s been a battle for us when we plan our photography workshops as we’re trying to predict the peak of azalea season as accurately as possible.
This year is no exception. This past weekend I spent some time wandering through gardens. The first blossoms are blooming and signs of spring are starting to emerge.
I’ve been pondering unexpected beginnings. I think we can all agree that a new season, fresh starts, and hitting the reset button allows us to draw in deeper breaths with renewed energy. I’m in desperate need for margin in my life. Working, stretching, striving takes its toll when it’s extended for prolonged periods. The important things of life begin to slowly fade and before you know it, like fall transitioning into winter, they are buried under snow.
Perhaps that’s why this year I’m being intentional about being present for each unfolding blossom, for each wave of new growth and the progression of spring. I’m taking back my art, fertilizing my creativity, intentionally creating margin to breathe a little deeper, and treasuring the small things. After I finish this post, I’m going to set aside my task list and get my hands into soil.
The reality is, we can never fully step away from demands, but I am beginning to learn that it’s ok to set them aside and they will always be waiting for me when I pick them back up again.
For now, I’m going to relish new beginnings, the whispers of nature, paying attention to the longings of my soul for room to create, and nurturing the relationships that surround me. All these are precious, sacred things that deserve their season.
“In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt.”
— Margaret Atwood