purgatory and small joys

Oh, February is a bleak little month, isn’t it? I feel a little guilty even saying (typing) that out loud, considering how much better things are since a year ago, when I wrote my first “February is wearing on my spirit” missive here. Then, I was waiting not-so-patiently for my turn to get vaccinated, living a cozy but confined existence within the perimeters of our apartment and Brooklyn environs.

Now, thrice-vaccinated–and after a mild but terribly timed bout with Delta back in August–I am gigging again, seeing friends, planning travel, riding the subway. Life is once again imbued with a sense of forward momentum (although riding the subway has never been worse, let’s be honest).

Nevertheless, this purgatory between spacious, austere January and spring’s arrival seems endless. Seeing even one branch of audacious yellow forsythia in bloom might save my sanity, but we’ve got a ways to go yet before the air softens for real and the tender green shoots and buds begin to emerge from their long sleep.

Here are two true things: 1. I am grateful for what we have regained since we lost the Before, and 2. I am weary and unsettled by this period of awaiting the After. Illness, war, mistrust, division: round and round we go, century after century.

My wise, thoughtful mama recently gifted me a subscription to The Isolation Journals, Suleika Jaouad’s Substack, filled with eloquent reflections on writing, mortality, and the creative process. Each week brings a different writing prompt, and a recent one was an invitation to create an inventory of loves.

I won’t take comprehensive stock of everything and everyone I love here–there’s a solitary, private quality to these prompts that feels monastic and right, plus, why should I assume anyone would be interested in that?–so I’ll save the big list for myself. But in case you, like me, are feeling some doldrums, whether February-induced or of the existential, “the world is on a greased toboggan to hell” variety, I thought it might be nice to share a list of some recent small joys that have proved calming, restorative, thought-provoking, and sensory-awakening:

The Isolation Journals
Suleika Jaouad founded this online community in response to the pandemic. She is the author of Between Two Kingdoms, her memoir of navigating leukemia treatment and recovery in her early twenties; sadly, her cancer has recently returned and she is once more undergoing treatment. She shares her own elegant, eloquent writing and artwork, and every Sunday includes a journaling prompt from a different contributor.

“Survival as a creative process” is a literal credo for Jaouad as she makes her way through a second bone marrow transplant. But her invitation to literally make something of our hurts, losses, unanswered questions, vulnerabilities–as well as our loves, discoveries, and joys–feels urgent and universal. The newsletter and journaling prompts are always free, but subscribers get access to the full archive, as well as additional writings, videos, interviews, and more.

As the Season Turns - a Podcast by Ffern
Whoo, boy, is this ever up my alley. Ffern is an organic perfumery based in Somerset, England. They release four perfumes every year, on solstices and equinoxes, with the aim of restoring the art of perfumery to its artisanal roots. Ffern created a once-monthly podcast, designed as “something short, lasting only fifteen minutes or so, that you might listen to on a walk through the park, in the kitchen or by the fireside.”

The podcast is written and narrated by Lia Leendertz and touches on an array of topics pertinent to each month: seasonal foods, what birdsong one can expect to hear, what’s in bloom (or waiting to bloom), pagan and religious rituals and traditions, and more. I’m grateful to be reminded that even (especially) surrounded by the hard angles and chaos of city life–particularly this city, in these days–we can find grounding and (dare I say it?) healing in the rhythms of the natural world.

Tuscany
Sadly, I am not referring to Tuscany, the place. (Would I even need a list of antidotes to spiritual malaise if I were typing this from a hillside home in the Val d’Orcia or a little apartment in Lucca? Possibly, I suppose. But the views would certainly be better.) No, I’m referring to Tuscany, the fragrance by Estée Lauder that I began wearing at around age fifteen and for which I still harbor a cellular fondness.

I seldom wear perfume in everyday life; it’s a big no-no in choral settings, for obvious reasons, and I’d hate to be the cause of anyone’s perfume-induced headache on the subway or at Trader Joe’s. But at home and on days when I know I won’t be on the subway or in a crowded setting, I’ve been indulging in a few spritzes of my long-beloved scent, and it is transporting. Because Tuscany has been my perfume, on and off, for over twenty-five years, it acts as a bit of a sensory time machine: one whiff and I’m walking around the Piazza del Duomo in Milano or listening to music in my old Seattle studio apartment with a bay window and view of the Space Needle.

PBS Masterpiece
Every Sunday evening, the programs on PBS Masterpiece have been a balm to my spirit and a gentle way to wind down the weekend, from the bucolic warmheartedness of All Creatures Great and Small to the globe-trotting adventurousness portrayed in Around the World in 80 Days.

Why do we human beings tell each other stories? From pre-historic cave drawings to shows binge-watched on Netflix, why do we need stories? To escape, I suppose; all of us, hunt-wearied cavemen and beleaguered 21st-century folk alike, crave a diversion from the obligations and frustrations of our workaday lives. But stories also help us make sense of our place in the long, troubled history of the world. At their best, the stories we tell each other can impart a fresh perspective, reminding us that neither good times nor bad times last forever. And really good stories inspire us to connect with one another, to shoulder the collective burden and blessing of the human condition with renewed courage.

Milk Street: Tuesday Nights Mediterranean
We’re only three recipes into this new cookbook, a Valentine’s Day gift for my husband, but each dish so far has been a home run. Lord knows I’m a fan of those comforting kitchen stalwarts: the recipes we revisit again and again with confidence in their utility and power to soothe. But after two years of pandemic life–and a wonderful but disconcerting return to busy schedules and the need for efficient weeknight meals–this book, filled with unexpected flavor combinations and recipes organized by fast/faster/fastest, has reinvigorated our cooking.

If you’re so inclined, please feel free to comment and share some of what’s making you feel hopeful and happy these days–I’d love to hear what’s getting you through this bewildering time.