It is freezing outside, almost devastatingly so.
And yet, according to the traditional Japanese lunar calendar, Spring is already here.
There are signs.
While the temperatures still hover in the minus degrees most evenings, the sky is no longer pitch black at 5pm. One morning on my balcony I realise, with pure delight, I can feel the warmth of the sun on my face.
The local florist proudly displays large branches alight with tiny, delicate blossoms, a sight I haven’t seen in many months. Last night, I bought seri or water dropwort in the grocery store, a coriander looking spring vegetable that you eat, roots and all, in nabe or hot pot to fuel the body as the new season begins to stir.
It’s beautiful, to pause and notice the gentle environmental shifts.
It’s beautiful, to develop a relationship with spring beyond simply now it’s time for warmth.
After a full twelve months living in Japan I feel many sensations, all at once.
The seasons have become a main character in my life. It’s been the biggest culture shock of all. My physical body has felt as if on a boat, at times, trying to remain standing amidst a rocky sea of extremes.
And yet, I remain enchanted beyond belief.
I feel excited, to walk into the cycle for a second time, with a soft understanding of what is to come.
Your body is too cold, a massage therapist tells me last week.
Tell me something I don’t know.
She prescribes me nightly baths, a diet of warming foods and a heat pack on my solar plexus before bed.
I walk home from my massage feeling both relaxed and acutely aware of the inherent sensitivity of my body. I feel what I can only describe as the ache of being human. I acknowledge my own weakness, in partnership with my strength and realise this is something I usually prefer to ignore.
For once, I don’t judge it as bad or wrong. It makes sense.
Sometimes we know, intellectually or emotionally where we need to be, but it takes the animal body time to catch up. When the therapist learns it’s my first winter here, she inhales deeply as if it all makes sense.
You will adapt, but not this year she says.
It’s a theme I know all too well of the past twelve months.
Everything feels as if it moves in half speed. Everything is a no before it’s a yes.
When I zoom out, I see my life expand in a flash, like a timelapse of a flower exploding from bud to bloom. But in the moment, it all feels wildly slow.
Spring is here, but it will get colder still, before the warmth comes.
This morning, the local florist asks me if I live nearby and gifts me an incredible flower to take home. I’ve been buying florals from her for almost ten months now, and it’s the first time she’s said more than four words to me in a row.
It feels like forever and a heartbeat.
It’s starting to feel like home.
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚
After twelve months living in Japan, the lunar calendar is starting to take shape somewhere within me.
I imagine the first seeds softly landing on my skin, like spores carried on the breeze.
I feel a quiet anticipation for the cycle of the coming year.
Nothing in life or nature is linear.
Nothing in life or nature is forever.
Rarely does our story unfold at the pace we hope.
Even when you can sense the light coming, it’ll often get a little darker first.
A note on this substack: all payments are currently paused as I take the rest of this season to rest, experiment and play with my writing here. If you’re not yet a subscriber, please join us here.
Coming up, in The Daily Rest Studio
꩜ 18/2
Bud to Bloom | The Seasons of Business, Creativity, Life & Love
Explore the three phases of creative work: the roots, the bud and the bloom and the different ways they can manifest. By learning to trust, and work with rather than against our elemental nature, we can harness restorative growth, success, spaciousness and moments of deep, deep rest.
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ view all of our previous soft business workshops here
꩜ 26/2
Daughters of The Earth | Menstrual Stories with Keito Hirakawa
Our stories shape who we are, our physical health, our confidence and how we move through the world. I’m so excited to invite Keito Hirakawa into the studio for this workshop. It’s going to be a powerful one.
꩜ Live Now
The Year of the Snake | A practice for gentle shedding and nourishing the sensitive lung & large intestine meridians this year.
The Void | Re-Igniting Creativity & Vitality | I think this might be my favourite practice of this year so far. For when you have been in the void, felt disconnected from your creative / feminine self / feel you have nothing to say or share.
If you enjoy reading my words here, I believe you will feel at home in The Daily Rest Studio. It would be a pleasure to have you there.
"You will adapt, but not this year." There's something deeply comforting about this sentence.
What a joy to open my Sunday with your beautiful text ! I love the title, the words and pictures and the wisdom that unfolds here and inspires me, thank you so much Emmie 🙏 !