On my walks this week, with dog and baby, I have delighted in the blooming. of azaleas and redbuds, snapdragons and crocuses. This may sound goofy, but this season make me feel like a character in the storybooks I read as a girl, the plucky kind who wear sun hats with ribbons around the brim and carry seashells in their leather satchels. (Is plucky storybook heroine aesthetic a thing? Can we make it one?)
It’s not a bad way to move through life, imagining yourself the heroine in your very own storybook. When I think about life this way, I remember that every good plot has its peaks and troughs; stasis doesn’t make for a very interesting story. There is a time for every season, and no winter lasts forever. I’m trying to trust the rhythm more, trust that I am a part of it, if I simply surrender to it.
Outside of this Substack, I have felt quite stuck when it comes to writing—for a while now. This scared me, freaked me out in that “What if I’m not who I thought I am?” kind of way. Writers’ block has never been a thing for me; I used to have so little time to write that I would hit the page running whenever I got the chance. But in the last two years, I’ve had more time than ever—and I haven’t been writing—letters and my journal, yes, but not “real” writing. Not the kind of writing people expect you to do after you publish a book. (Did people expect this or did I?) My last book came out in February 2019 and I have “nothing to show” for the intervening five years.
This is one narrative, but of course it’s not the only narrative - far from it. As I emphasized to my students in all those years teaching English, there are dozens of plausible and engaging interpretations for any one story; that’s the beauty of it, as well as the fun. Growth means viewing my own narrative from new angles, a vantage point that allows me to see newly. What do you know? Inspiration struck yesterday, like the most sacred blessing, and I am beginning to see that everything I’ve done in the past two years, all of what I thought “didn’t count,” was exactly what I needed to get me to this place, to write what only I can write.
If you’ve been reading here for a while, you know that I have been learning to care for myself better than I historically have. This was prompted in part by migraines but also a fundamental mindset shift in which I realized that caring for myself is not indulgent or selfish, but rather my foremost responsibility: to treat myself as precious. This work (and it is work!) has taken many forms, and one theme I’ve come to is that, instead of trying to fundamentally change the ways I operate, I try instead to work *with* my nature. Enter: the grownup sticker chart.
This is not a blanket endorsement of sticker charts; I didn’t grow up with one and I didn’t use one when my kid was small. But for forty-one-year-old Nishta Mehra, who has a praise kink and who likes shiny things and who cannot function without several lists going at once, this system is brilliant. I’ve customized my categories to include habits that I know make the biggest difference in my quality of life (walking/yoga, meditation, reading/audiobook, kitchen time, etc.) and also included a spot where I can record observations related to my migraines (did I need medicine that day, what number did my pain level reach, etc.) I’m halfway through the first week with it and I plan to tweak the rows next week based on my experience—I want to do a better job of taking my supplements daily (these support my brain health/diminish migraine activity) and prepping my lunch the night before work (if I’m scrounging for food or just snacking, I’m much more likely to get a headache).
The sticker chart is its own reward, the sense of satisfaction that comes with time well spent and being show up as the most authentic & joyful version of myself as possible, as often as possible. In this way, I am reminded of the Lenten season and its encouragement toward discipline—not necessarily that we need to deprive ourselves of something that brings us pleasure, but rather, what if we gave up those habits and behaviors that don’t really serve us? Unintentionally, I gave up social media on Ash Wednesday, but as I think about it, I realize that the date was certainly no coincidence.
My psyche is well-attuned to the rhythm of the liturgical calendar, and I have always appreciated the practice of Lent. (It’s not lost on me that being an outsider, and therefore choosing Lent, rather than having it forced on me, probably contributed to the appeal.) My approach in the past was very often a restrictive one—no meat, no chocolate, no alcohol, etc. From there, I moved to additives—a gratitude practice, a meditation practice. At this point in my life, I am confident in my ability to be disciplined in denying myself; I am far less sure that I can be equally as disciplined when it comes to being generous with myself. What if I approached giving me what I needed as a spiritual practice? What if I could trust that the story of my life will move from winter to spring, as surely as the bulbs will bloom?
Some miscellany to round us out:
My friend Lisa wrote this beautiful post and she expressed so much of what has been on my own mind and heart. I am grateful to her for sharing.
This spring brings an exciting trip for me! Pre-pandemic, I was asked to speak at the Calvin Festival of Faith & Writing; the festival kept being postponed due to Covid, but it’s finally happening in April. I’ve never been to Grand Rapids before AND I’ve never been a festival speaker (I will totally be fangirl/stalking some of the other folks making appearances), so if you don’t mind, I’ll just be over here feeling fancy 💅🏾
Last but not least, here is that new playlist I promised you. It’s equal parts dreamy and soulful, and I hope you love it!