detangling, shaking off, shedding skin

the clearing that winter provides may feel harsh but it's also what we need to provide space for new growth

this week’s collage: two large butterflies spread their wings at the top of the page, one blue with green spots and one nearly-yellow-green with yellow spots. the butterflies are risographs from the Sunroom shop. behind them, a hastily colored background of blue, yellow, and pink with black pen scribbled around the corners of some of the items. at the bottom left, a yellow lemon ginger tea pouch, torn open. leaping from it, an illustrated scene—including a tree, and owl reading, a rainbow with books, a squirrel with a flower—sourced from a postcard from Karma Coffee & Books, a shop local to South Padre, TX. peeking out of the tea pouch, a little illustration of a sleeping person by Yumi Sakugawa. another sticker by Sakugawa in the right corner boldly says “do nothing”, while under it lies a tiny stationary receipt.

the bones of my life feel hard to define being that i perceive myself to be in a state of expansion. yet they are necessary to return to in this hibernative season. what must i shake off so that i may stand the harshness of winter?

i cling to my altar and the weekly cadence of my rituals to keep myself grounded. the ritual of tuning necessary task to planetary alignment is perhaps the kindest way for me to move forward and through the winter. this practice in itself feels new, but in reality it is an implementation of all the parts of me i’ve found throughout my life that have kept me whole.

i move slowly. my entire life i’ve never been able to be rushed, which is laughable considering how much i’ve struggled with anxiety, impatience, and a reliance on validation. one would think that in being a slow-paced person, winter would suit me—in some ways i think it could. as i fight to detangle myself from capitalism, i hope that taking things slowly and with patience will come to me more easily as i age. i’ve begun to shed the scaly, too-tight skin of what feels like a life i never lived; i feel what snakes must feel when they shed theirs—cold and vulnerable. but maybe that’s just how it feels to be in your twenties.

please let me know what you’re shaking off this winter. maybe we can clear away dead branches and loose leaves together 💗

much love,

isabetta