January

On January 1st, I tapped into my new Christmas gift from my parents - an online class called “Journaling as Creative Liberation.” The teacher told us that journaling can be anything, and for anyone. One word she kept repeating was a place to collect lingerments - a word I immediately penned into my own journal. 

Here are some “lingerments” from this month.

During one of my meditations, the instructor said “focus on the journey of the outbreath.” After that session I wrote a poem about releasing and letting go to remind myself that I will always land, anchored, no matter what I may be exhaling.

My mom gave me a honey jar, and I spent about ten minutes admiring it as I unwrapped it and placed it delicately in my kitchen. I loved the honey dipper and lazily swirling it around in the jar. I found myself disappointed when the honey didn’t drizzle slowly and magnificently off the dipper, but rather just sat still and thick in the crevices. I carefully placed the dipper into my steaming cup of cinnamon, ginger and cardamom tea and left it to steep. When I returned a few minutes later, I was pleased to see that the honey had slipped out of the crevices and melted into the hot tea, the cinnamon steam floating up gently to warm my face. 

One of my meditations told me to imagine my body filling with a sort of liquid sunlight, letting it fill and expand inside. I pictured honey being drizzled slowly and carefully down the stacking of my spine - sometimes getting stuck in the crevices, but other times stretching downward to continue filling me with the sweet, thick, golden nectar. 

I watched the Pixar movie “Soul” with my housemate, and as we wiped our tears away while the credits rolled, I made sure I found and saved the specific score from the movie that had swelled immense sorrow, hope, grief, and gratitude inside me, all at the same time. 

My commute both to and from work lately has been filled with a soft, pastel blue, pink and purple sky. “Hi,” I whisper to the sun peeking into view as I drive along a familiar curve of road. 

One morning at work, I sit before four preschoolers, who are all on the spectrum, gently tapping my knees singing our “hello!” song. My heart swells as I see each of them sitting in their own colored cube chair, their excited bodies able to still for a few moments, tiny masks stretched across their faces, eyes wide and attentive to the sun visual I am placing on the board - to help  them to see that it is, in fact, sunny today. 

To conclude, here is my "January" Spotify playlist - the soundtrack to my lingerments this month.