A review of March

I sit under a full moon in the early days of the month. The night is black and frigid. I’m at the park and watch as wisps of clouds cross across the moon, as tall tree branches climb high and bare. Her aura is vivid. I feel anticipation, I feel the intensity of all that is set to come in the weeks ahead. I feel assured and trustful.

March is … it’s hard to find the words. It’s slow and introspective, and then a whirlwind and chaotic. It’s a month of feeling ready, guided, and confident and then all of a sudden panicked, uneasy, and shaken. It’s a month of falling asleep to guided meditations and turning one on again as soon as I awake. It’s watching my room slowly begin to brighten in the morning as the sun rises. It’s every emotion in the span of weeks. Days, really.

I make a list of rules for the month and keep to a few of them.

March rules —

• Courage is the name of the game. If something feels a little uncomfy, lean in! Even just a little bit. See how it feels.

  • I feel like every day demanded courage of me and it’s stretching, a good deep stretching.

• We’re reading before bed instead of scrolling.

  • This was 50/50.

• Retreat from social media on the weekends.

  • It did and then didn’t happen.

• See a psychic! Whenever the mood strikes you; maybe it’s when there’s a “$10 psychic reading” sign on the street or something a bit more researched. Try it because you’ve always wanted to.

  • I found one! I’m now waiting for the timing to feel right.

• It’s a “yes” month. Say yes exclamation point! Know your boundaries, of course, but we’re trying “yes” on for size and seeing how it feels.

  • It felt real good.

• Get a haircut.

  • Check! And it revitalized me.

• Delusion is in. Say your biggest, wildest, most outlandish ideas out loud. Be “unrealistic” for a second and see how it feels.

  • This has proven to be really good for me and I just need to do more of it.

The first weekend of March is filled with friends. Each interaction serendipitous and energizing. We lay under red-hued lights with face masks on and quesadilla in hand. We hold new tarot decks with puppies across our laps. We grip steaming cups of tea and share a smattering of pastries. We spend hours talking about anything and everything on a Sunday afternoon.

One night, I meditate when I’m unable to sleep and I’m turning over the phrase: “fear doesn’t have to be so dark.” Tasting it, letting it linger on my tongue and feel it set off a release across my chest. I open my eyes and my room is sparkling. It’s just after midnight and it looks like the cosmos is splashed across my walls. My mirror ball is refracting light, drawn from a nearby glowing window. What a curious thing, and yet not curious at all.

I go to a hot yoga class on a Saturday morning just down the street from my apartment. I learn (and succeed at!) a new pose and am proud of how strong my body is.

I read When We Were Sisters. Slowly at first and then it pulls me in. Sentences stun me and play over in my mind.

One Sunday morning, I go to Prospect Park with Joey and I manage to find yet another corner I’ve never seen. And it’s my favorite yet. I find many quiet pockets and the sun peaks in and out from behind the clouds. We sit on a bench and a couple sits down on the one next to us. They place bird seed all throughout and all of a sudden, we are surrounded by birdsong and fluttering wings. I spot two red cardinals, which was my grandmother’s favorite bird. I’ve seen a couple since her passing in January and I see her spirit in each of them.

Reader, I go on to see more cardinals than I can count this month and each time it brings tears to my eyes.

This month I start putting orange and lemon slices in my water. Sometimes mint if I have it. This really elevates the drinking water experience for me.

I start my new job. Two days before I start, I go to St. End’s and have a cocktail. I like to write and be alone here. There’s a small table tucked in the corner by the window and I can both watch everything and feel anonymous. I feel the buzz of a new job about to start. The flurry of what’s probably both excitement and anxiety. I write, “I trust the decisions I make.”

At the end of my first week, I have a hard time writing those words again. In fact, I don’t. It’s a flurry of every possible emotion, leaving me exhausted and overwhelmed. As I ride the train home from the office, I view the enormity of my vast feelings. I say view because it’s like I’m watching my feelings outside of myself. I wonder if this is disassociation or growth. Is this what it’s like to acknowledge feelings, but to not be overcome by them? Or am I so goddamn overwhelmed that my body is shutting down? I’m still not sure.

The latter half of the month is a lot of second guessing myself. The first two months of this year were some of my most transformative and mindful. I committed and came to this job in that place — in such a grounded and trusting mentality. So as I struggle through the first two weeks of work, my confidence feels shaken and fragile.

I get a massage in Chinatown and walk along Canal St afterward eating dumplings as I pop in and out of shops, filling my bag with various pastries.

I go to my regular coffee shop with Joey one rainy Saturday morning and find that there’s a large tv set up on the bar and Freaky Friday is playing. It’s perfectly nostalgic and gets all of us in the shop talking with one other.

I reach another milestone of growth with Joey. The arranging of his care while I’m away is really hard. It feels a lot like scraping together help and piecing something together last minute. Last year, this would’ve angered me. It would’ve felt like a disposition. He would’ve. But now, it just is. It’s part of the deal. I ached for breaks from him last year, while now, coming home to him is one of the best feelings I know.

For the past two months, my morning has began with guided meditation and writing. And very religiously so. Near the end of the month, I feel the nudge for something new. I feel the draw to take my meditation outside, less words and more birdsong and sunshine. For the last week of the month, Joey and I take our morning walks as the sun rises. It’s quiet and allows me time to linger. I touch budding flowers and find benches that are bathed in sunlight. I close my eyes and listen to the trees rustle. The shift feels exactly right.

The season changes and there are unbelievably beautiful days peppered into what is otherwise a chilly month. One Sunday, Joey and I lay on a blanket in Prospect Park for hours. There are people everywhere. I watch a few folks play volleyball and a person nearby me meditate. I take off my shoes and rest my bare feet on the soil. The sun warms my face. As we walk home, I remember that spring in New York is magical.