In a Moment - Issue 26

I started taking early morning walks in October of last year. Partially fueled by quarantine-cabin sickness, I would rise with the sun and walk down to the piers. A few years ago, a park was constructed on the old piers and fields. Winding paths, trees and greenery, and the east river. Through these walks, I became more attuned to the shifts of the seasons, the cooling temperatures as fall was eclipsed by winter. I watched the trees shed their leaves, the greenery die away and then the snow came. I had witnessed the quantity and might of the snowfalls in Brooklyn dwindle over the last few years. Often finding myself longing for the blanketing of a snowstorm.

In February the snow found Brooklyn, a series of snowstorms descended upon the city.

Through my walks, I was able to re-acquaint myself with all the variants of snow.

The freshly fallen snow, soft and billowy.

The large flakes that fall heavy and wet.

The small pellets that pierce cheeks and tap on windowsills.

The accumulated snow that's crisp on the surface and reveals cold snow underneath from previous snowstorms.

With the emergence of spring, I've watched as the snow has melted.

And how, even after a few 60 degree days, there still would remain a few piles of sooty snow.

These piles had hardened from periods of melting and refreezing. Harsh edges and spiky corners.

And these piles reminded me of the parts of me that had frozen over the last few months. From grief, burnout, quarantine-fatigue. On my walks, when I would encounter one of these craggy piles, I would pause and connect with that hardened part of myself and extend that part a bit of warmth. I wouldn't resist the hard part or turn away, but instead, I would look at that feeling of resentment or anger and hold it in my awareness. Taking a moment to extend kindness to myself and that hardened space. Understanding that it would melt away with time and care. Just like these holdouts of snow needed just a little extra warmth and little more sunshine, I recognized that those parts of me needed a bit more compassion. A bit more kindness to thaw.

Those piles have long since melted and have been replaced with blooming daffodils and crocuses.

And those hardened places within have melted as well.

Perhaps take a moment in the spring air to explore any areas for you that have hardened over the weeks, months, years. And rather than pushing them away, or hiding them away, what if you reach out to them. Extend yourself a bit of kindness and warmth.