Disruption
A few days ago I wrote in my journal,
It snowed yesterday, March reminding us winter is winning this tug of war. Who cares? Not me.
At this point in winter, I find myself in the acceptance stage. As in, acceptance of defeat. Winter forever? Fine, whatever. (I might be the kind of tug-of-war loser that can at least let go of the rope and laugh as the victor falls down, looking like a fool.)
I always get a little restless this time of year and I can never put my finger on why. Maybe because the earth is too, and I try my best to mirror whatever the trees do, as a rule. But I feel it, and it’s not a pleasant feeling.
It’s a feeling of displacement, unsettledness, confusion. An agitated stirring. A disruption. I’ve been thinking about this word a lot lately, disruption. It brings to mind a movie I watched recently, Glass Onion: A Knives Out Mystery— of a group of self-titled “Disruptors” who claim to shake things up, break norms and conventions, and generally challenge the system in the name of creativity and innovation.
In winter, I get used to the system and as it changes, I never quite know my place in this new natural context. Am I here or am I there? Is it time? Where do you want me? How do I feel? What IS my place? Where AM I going? In the words of Kate Hudson’s influencer-character Birdie Jay—What is reality??
It’s very disorienting.
Thankfully, by way of a friend named Suvi (this is a test to see if she reads this), I came across a quote naming these feelings of seasonal confusion and only recently found something explaining why.
The name, as given by Kurt Vonnegut:
One sort of optional thing you might do is to realize there are six seasons instead of four. The poetry of four seasons is all wrong for this part of the planet and this may explain why we are so depressed so much of the time. I mean, Spring doesn't feel like Spring a lot of the time, and November is all wrong for Fall and so on. Here is the truth about the seasons. Spring is May and June! What could be springier than May and June? Summer is July and August. Really hot, right? Autumn is September and October. See the pumpkins? Smell those burning leaves. Next comes the season called "Locking." That is when Nature shuts everything down. November and December aren't Winter. They're Locking. Next comes Winter, January and February. Boy! Are they ever cold! What comes next? Not Spring. Unlocking comes next. What else could [March and] April be?*
This explains the weirdness and confusion. Fickle March is fickle because it isn't winter and it isn't spring, it's Unlocking. Or, what Sean called it the other day: a gap month.
Here’s an explanation for those who struggle this time of year, against all reason, as we claw our way out of winter with mud and last year’s leaves under our fingernails:
Not only can we be seasonally depressed but transitionally as well! The fun never ends. But still, nothing like a discovery of terms to give validation and confirmation that your feelings are real and you’re not the only one feeling them.
Lions vs. Lambs
Growing up I always heard March described as coming “in like a lion, out like a lamb,” but somehow missed the explanation of this, yet still did the accompanying school craft anyway. I guess it was a little abstract for my elementary-aged brain. And then I never heard it again until much later and was like, oh. Right. Remember what a big deal seasons & weather was in elementary school?
I was telling Sean this and he made me laugh when he concurred,“I heard it so much I thought it must be like the national motto or something.”
I know it’s a metaphor depicting a transformation from violent predator to gentle farm animal but I feel myself caught between the two, in the middle of a stand-off, and I don’t like it. Just everyone relax, ok? Back off, lion. Back.off.
Why the discomfort?
Well, basically, it’s because March is a disruptor and I am sensitive. It is disruptive to the established, familiar routine of winter where I have slipped unawares into a Stockholm Syndrome-like relationship, so when I wake to new snow I might tell myself, who cares? Not me. I love snow. It’s the best. I know not to fight it. I know not to hope, in the dead of winter. Hope is a helpless lamb. Because it doesn’t fit my reality, and also because it’s self-protective and I’m sheltering, instead of the absurdity of hoping for something better, for the possibility of growth, of greenery— something living, evolving and really flourishing, I turn away and hold onto the safety of the familiar, what I already know.
But then March comes barreling into my life, flipping light switches and tables, and it upturns everything. And remembrance is shoved back into my face, up my nose, which can feel overwhelming and honestly, a little frightening. But the little lamb gets stronger, and shows me the necessity of change and my own complicity in the established patterns of a stagnant, unsustainable relationship. Nature faces truth always and demands that we evolve because she is, with or without us. And she wants that alignment, that expansion for collective growth, each in its own season or process.
In a podcast titled, Discomfort for Growth: A Crash Course in Differentiation Theory, LDS relationship and sexuality coach and a guru in my life, Dr. Jennifer Finlayson-Fife says this:
“Moving from a place of stasis or comfort— where we can account for reality— to having reality that disrupts our sense of what's up and what’s down, that disrupts our sense of what is, is very uncomfortable. When we’re in that uncomfortable state, we can reject the new data, reject the people delivering the message--push it away and coddle our current stasis. OR, we can use that information to tolerate what we feel is true but haven't yet accommodated into our mind and reality. And then let that uncomfortable process grow our mind up. This allows us to accommodate more truth, accommodate more reality about ourselves and our relationships. It's that discomfort for growth that we must tolerate.”
Maybe I’ve gotten too used to what is familiar, falsely thinking this might be as good as it gets. March proposes another story, and extends an invitation for a disruption for what it really is: an opportunity for growth. I can resist it and stay in my locked-in, comfortable cloud, or I can turn and lean into the discomfort to unlock myself to something better. Because that lamb’s going to win, Jen. Grow with her.
OK, I knew I needed to read some Jen Morello this morning. We love Glass Onion, Finlayson Fife, is a regular for Dave and I. She’s a fire-ball.
I remember the Comes in Like a Lion and out like a Lamb thing as a kid as well and probably had no clue what it meant then. I literally had flashbacks of specific art/craft projects that included the Lion/Lamb theme for spring. Crazy! And I absolutely love the six season plan. I’m adopting it immediately. Bring on the unlocking!
Thank you so much for kickstarting my Saturday! 💛👏🏼😊