This past week in New York momentarily veered into premature summer territory, but it’s safe to say we are back to normal spring temperatures (to my dismay, because I loved sweating around the city)!
A lot of the trees seem to have already bloomed past their peak, earlier than I remember from last year. I haven’t put away my coats because I have trust issues. The air is so dry the reoccurring eczema spot on my face has flared up.
And yet, through this awkward dance of being neither here nor there, it’s spring. We begin to shed our layers, unclench our jaws, and stop to smell the flowers. I am feeling more and more like myself again, returning to intuition and instinct to guide me through the last bit of “in between” weather before the summer, my favorite season.
I’ve been thinking a lot about intuition and instinct lately. The past six months have pushed me to question the parameters we, as a culture so preoccupied with optimization and productivity, have come to rely on—when, at the end…
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