the meaningful glow: a weekly archive
the moon's gaze, Lucy Barton, Lebanese Stew, and tenderness.
In the past, January has not been my favorite month. After the hullaballoo of October-December, it felt like being shoved into bleak nothingness. In the last few years, and as I approach my 36th this April, I’ve noticed my mindset shifting. Perhaps it’s tied to my age, the stories I’ve lived, or simply the awareness of life’s rhythms carving more meaningful paths. The month may change names, the season temperatures, but everything else marches on no matter where we are. We continue as Mark Strand beautifully wrote above, “under the cracking white/ of the moon’s gaze in a valley of snow.”
The moon has always fascinated me. Yes, I run into the warm sunshine like a child and always will, but the solitude of the ever waxing and waning guardian of the night threads into my soul. The boys often talk to the moon or try to catch it, reaching earnestly with small fingers, free from any hesitation that they can pull it to Earth.
Earlier this week, Roan said he was going to catch all the moons for me, and maybe some galaxies, but I needed to put them back when I was finished. “Of course, my love,” I whisper after kissing his cheek - the one with the birthmark, the John Boy kiss - “the stars will be lonely without them.”
The moon guides my cycles each month, something I’ve become more attuned to later in life and wish I had known sooner. She leads the way into the darkness, and guides us once again into morning. The winter moon, in particular, is a steadfast presence, casting its glow onto the bare branches of my oak tree or the swiftly passing clouds. She reminds us to seek beauty not only in the light of day but in step with the ancient constellations.
As you lie under your own winter fire of stars this week, I wish you tenderness toward all that you find. You are worthy of it, even when you feel you have nothing left to offer.
life with small beings
Despite what the photo above conveys, this was not taken last summer, but on January 2nd. We have had a spell of warm weather after the bitter cold, and it has felt like a balm. An em-dash between otherwise frosted mornings and winter coat battles. This local park is my personal favorite. It’s sandy path loops around tidal marsh, waterways, and maritime forest. Above is a tiny beach the boys love to play in, though we can’t go far into the water due to the oysters. I realized I hadn’t actually been there since this time last year. Kieren was a newborn and my still swollen body moved awkwardly. I had no idea I was heading toward postpartum depression, only that I desperately needed the fresh air.
This year, Sean had Kieren in the hiking carrier and my arms were free. The boys darted in front of us and behind again, looking for snails, shells, or pausing to draw in the sand. We stopped for lunch, the baby tried to eat the sand, and headed home again with renewed bodies and minds.
reading/listening/learning
As promised I return this week with updated reading material: Lucy by the Sea.
Strout’s Lucy Barton has held my heart for many years, and I am excited to receive this from the library after a long wait. This story is set in the pandemic, which I’ve found feels raw to read, even now. It has encouraged some reflection already upon my own experiences in that time. I’m thinking I need to sit and write them out, even if only for my personal journals.
I am also finishing the last book in Kate DiCamillo’s trilogy, Beverly, Right Here. The first and second were read quickly and wholeheartedly, if that’s a thing, and this one is no different. Kate always gets you in the feels.
Finally, my friend Eliza recommended a podcast episode by Kendra Adachi at The Lazy Genius this week:
How To Start Fresh Without Starting Over - basically, just because it’s January 1 on the calendar, it doesn’t mean you need to turn your life upside down. I’m definitely here for that mindset and enjoyed what she had to say. I especially liked her perspective on tending vs. fixing - tending is soft, fixing isn’t. How can we implement more tending/tenderness in our lives? (No time to listen or prefer to read to get to the good bits? Here’s a link to the episode transcript.)
on the table
Oh my goodness. If you like a wholesome, hearty, nutritious, simple meals, try this Lebanese Beef and Spinach Stew, or “Sabanekh w Riz”. I used plain white rice this time, but I would like to try the Lebanese Rice mentioned in the recipe which is a form of pilaf. It is full of garlic but not overpoweringly so. I stayed full after eating it, which is often something I struggle with. My husband loved it. It will definitely go in the rotation. (Note: I didn’t have pine nuts, and it was still delicious.)
As you head into the weekend, I wish you tenderness towards yourself and those around you. What does that look like in your life right now? I would love to know - you can reply directly to this email or in the comments below.
Like the poem above, I think of the tunes my bones have played, the times I have kept going or simply known I needed to stop going altogether. I will be seeking tenderness toward myself as well.
Until next week. Thank you for being here.
Warmly,
Jess
Do you nerd out on journaling as much as me? Styles, notebooks, pens, looking at the way others do it? Check out the Substack Noted and this post by Jillian Hess:
Tender vs. fixing -- I love this. I'm going to be pondering that this week. Thank you, Jess.
I love the photo of your little boy and the moon and his words about catching it for you were so sweet 😍
I also really love that poem. Thank you for sharing.