A review of February

I start off the month in a small jewelry shop in Chinatown having my aura read. It’s a positive reading (I have a beautiful aura, I’m told) and it feels perfectly in sync with how I’ve been feeling as of late. How lovely January felt.

I walk around Prospect Heights aimlessly at dusk many times. The sky is periwinkle and the windows glow amber. The contrast was (and is) beguiling.

One of my best friend’s from college comes to stay with me for a weekend early in the month. I had forgot how seamlessly we exist together. We weave through the MoMA and make collages at Happy Medium. We lose track of time in used bookstores and over a bottle of red. We eat well, delighting in dumplings and hearty bowls of udon. We eat plates of olives, delectable cheeses, and generous slices of sourdough bread doused in olive oil. We walk through Chinatown as folks celebrate the Lunar New Year, pulling apart red bean buns and toting bok choy and mushrooms to make kimchi ramen soup later. We spend oodles of time pouring over the NYT crossword (she’s got much more a knack for it than myself, but I’m learning!).

After she leaves, I feel deflated for a number of days. It’s wearying to have people you love scattered all throughout the country.

I feel listless for much of the month. I am more tired. Full-body tired. I sleep a lot. I am a bit less motivated and more clouded. A little more irritable. A little more hard on myself. I’m feeling especially introverted. It’s hard to get out of my apartment and be a person in the world.

I remain committed to daily journaling and meditating. I continue to monitor my TV intake and see what works for me (Love Island UK is on people!). I note that by the end of the month, journaling and meditating are making a profound difference in my life. I marvel at the transformative effects of this inner work and how it’s such a power to feel good on the inside without it being contingent on anything happening on the outside.

I drink a lot less this month—only a few times in the company of others (aside from a manhattan on Valentine’s day). It’s a relatively easy reduction and my bank account thanks me.

I go to a gallery opening at the Ace Hotel. My friend’s running late so I nick some wine from a social event and meander around the lobby lounge. I am surprised at how neutral I feel in a situation that would normally bubble up some social anxiety. Growth!

We take turns sitting in the photo booth. I look closely at myself and love what I see.

I start doing guided breath work. I start doing so when my chest feels heavy, like there’s an emotional block that I can’t quite shake loose. I am quite surprised at how effective this is for me. Each time, the breathing technique conjures up tears (and lots of them). I feel lighter and clearer afterward.

I also start pulling a Tarot card daily. I enjoy the addition very much and the slow learning of each card’s meaning/how they might inform my life. For the latter half of the month, I continue to pull cards related to success, breakthroughs, leadership, passion, etc. I note this theme and it feels a bit like a daily reminder that I’m so much more capable than I think I am.

I go to a multi-medium performance that explores the daily realities of violence, incarceration, policing, and detention in the US at Carnegie Hall. I’m moved to tears it’s so marvelous.

I go for a run in short sleeves and brilliant sunshine. I feel like I am floating on air.

I spend a slow and sunny Saturday with a friend. She offhandedly says, “It’ll be right when it’s right,” and that phrase lingers in my mind for the remainder of the month.

Dear friends from Minnesota come to visit. We share bagels and coffee on a Sunday morning. They love on Joey and it makes my heart so happy.

February 15th marks one year since I first brought Joey home. We go on a sunny walk, play fetch, and he gets a new toy. I can’t and can believe it’s been a whole year. I cry realizing that he is a version of the support and love I’ve been asking for.

I am invited back for another interview (aforementioned in my January review) and am startled to learn I’ll be meeting with the CEO (among other principals). The initial shock shakes loose and I am instead bolstered. I can be in these spaces, I can shine in these spaces (repeats to self over and over). I feel a swell of pride that others can see it, too.

The weekend following the interview, I sit at Daughter on a Sunday morning and write. I notice a neutrality and groundedness as I await the results. It feels remarkable to not be gripping to a certain outcome, but to instead feel confident that the right opportunity won’t miss me. That if they find a more desirable match, it ultimately serves me well, too. It’s one thing to think these things, but to actually feel them—this is a particular day I feel immense gratitude for all of my recent growth.

Reader, on February 23, I receive an offer for the job. I feel everything at once — huge and overwhelming joy, huge and overwhelming fear. I cry hard and the tears are a flood of every swirling emotion rocketing in my body. Unbeknownst to them, my upstairs neighbors happens to gift me three bottles of wine that evening. I toast to new things to come.

I donate two sizable bags of clothes and it feels like the accomplishment of a century.

A friend I don’t speak with too often sends me a song he thinks I’ll like. He’s spot on and it’s stunningly beautiful. I feel seen. I feel touched.

I continue to go to a neighborhood cafe I love. I read and write there while Joey sits on my lap. Some mornings, people take pictures of us and send them to me via email because they’re enamored by him. By us. It’s so completely tenderly sweet. I realize that so much of connection and community in New York comes from showing up again and again, and investing in the people and places right under your nose.

While it feels like the gray days are endless, there’s brilliantly sunny and warm days scattered throughout the month. I note that when I’m able to get some sunshine on my face, the trajectory of my day feels significantly better.

I walk Joey every evening around 6:00. I feel the passage of winter, as I reach for my gloves less and less. I watch the days stretch longer, stepping out each night to a lighter sky — from ink blue, to cobalt, to cornflower. I feel joy at the increase in birdsong. I am greeting March feeling ready, anticipatory for the shift into spring, and the bewildering change this month will bring.

These monthly reviews have been my favorite to write, as of late. The reflective nature colors my days in a certain richness. It also allows me to see how much growth and goodness happens, even when it doesn’t seem so. Thank you for sharing in my days with me.