It’s the end of March. The last piles of asphalt-speckled snow in our Western Massachusetts neighborhood have melted, and the winter coats and snow pants have gone into the wash. Crocuses are blooming in sunnier spots, and we’ve all caught one last drippy cold for the season. Hopefully.
It feels weird to do ordinary things right now. After the inauguration in January, it felt even weirder. I couldn’t do much but read the news every time I picked up my phone, along with all the daily tasks of keeping a family alive and well.
And yet, I’m pretty darn lucky at the moment.
I have money, a home, food. Wonderful neighbors, friends, and family. I’m not in a war-torn country. My state prioritizes the health, rights, and well-being of its residents to a degree that many other US states do not. It’s not perfect, but I’m glad I live here. I’m privileged in many ways.
Still, it’s terrifying to see things crumbling around me and also directly affecting people I know, and those I only hear about in the news. I don’t know what’s to come, but it doesn’t seem good.
I want to do as much as a I can to help make change. Not only to resist what’s happening, but to create new ways of supporting each other, or to become involved in initiatives that already exist.
At the same time, I’m just trying to get through the day. I have a kindergartener with special needs, a baby with a heart condition, and I also have some ongoing health problems that mean I can’t operate at 100%. And then there’s just the baseline being-alive stuff that we all have to do.
I also crave the things I used to have time for. All the pleasant little rituals that mark the changing seasons. Making things by hand. Creating art. Cleaning. Socializing. Cooking with intention. Just having time to notice and enjoy nature.
I’m starting to accept that things will never be the same—personally, within my home country, and globally. I can’t do everything to the degree that I once did, and as much as I want to throw myself into community efforts and political action, I’ll have to do a little bit at a time. It’s better than nothing.
So, my spring ritual right now is washing the winter hats and mittens for storage. Playing in the soil with my sons and not worrying about when we should buy seeds and plant them. Putting up a handful of handmade spring decorations, because I don’t have it in me to do more than that and I’m certainly not buying much more than the necessities right now.
I’m emailing my representatives and signing petitions from my phone while my baby naps on me. I’m joining groups that share things for free, because there’s so much STUFF in the world already, and so much of it can still be used by others who need it. I’m helping fundraise for our library, as I have for almost 6 years.
Everything can be a ritual if we do it with intention and gratitude. Washing snow pants. Writing letters. Bagging up outgrown clothes to give away. Taking a short walk and noticing that, despite our changing climate, the birds are still chirping right now. The bulbs are still blooming right now. The mud is still squelchy right now. And we’re alive, and we can still do things, however small.
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