V. H. King's Ink

I  started this year with releasing Late in the Midnight Hour, and on more than a few occasions, I’ve wondered if that would be all I did this year. Did I want that? I wasn’t sure. I thought maybe it didn’t matter what I wanted, when my capacity was as unpredictable as the sociopolitical landscape of the country I live in. 

February gave me time to step back in some ways, and step forward in others. I noted moments from my days as a practice of reminding myself of the nuance and worth of my experiences. I was not only the strong one. I was not only terrified and disheartened. I daydreamed, hoped, imagined. I reached out to my friends. I did brave things to go boldly into the world as myself. 

With the time change and a new living space, March has come with an invitation to drink in the sunlight ans soak up the rainful; to breathe and bend in the wind; to allow the rush of changes while curling my toes around my roots and reaching toward the sky. The first reading I did this month was also the first reading in my new place, and the first reading after the daylight-savings time change. 

The significance of all of these firsts may vary, in time. As I shuffled  the deck and pulled cards, they were quite present in my mind. When it comes to beginning (again), I often think of what fades and what remains. I grew up keenly aware of impermanence and infinites, so every time I found myself transplanted, I learned more about what transforms and what endures–both in myself and the world(s) around me. 

In this spread, I saw what I already knew: a need to (re)assert boundaries and the necessity of community. There was more to the story beyond a lesson to digest and embody. I am very good at telling myself what I need to do. I know how I’ve grown and where I need to go from here, but I’m not always kind in the way I treat myself along that journey. Driven by anxiety, perfectionism, and anger, I’ve spent too many years punishing myself into being better rather than honoring my own intrinsic worth. 

While I knew I needed to find ways to connect with others who valued the fullness of my experiences, needs, perspectives, and beliefs, these cards reminded me of the importance of patience and temperament. Learning ways to care for and be kind to myself will take time. Identifying and implementing boundaries that support my health and well-being will not happen overnight. How am I treating myself during this process? How do I talk to myself? How do my expectations of myself and my progress reflect grace and generosity? 

Thinking about what I want to do after LitMiH gives me a tangible way to practice some self-compassion. Instead of moving a mountain of achievements in between myself and my worth, what kind of person do I want to be? In what ways do I hope to be in mutually supportive communities?

What things feel like a long shot or even seem altogether impossible–and how can I take a risk toward those things becoming something of a reality? Not because I have to earn joy, not because belonging is transactional, but because of the consistent mystery in all the ways the best and worst things make life worth living. There is no perfect time or place, and yet there is no better time and place to choose to live boldly, honestly, beautifully.