I’m climbing out of this season, fingernails ragged, belly soft. I tuck a stem of dried mint behind my ear to remind myself.

Tamiko Beyer, “February“

We climb out of seasons with ragged fingernails and soft bellies. I want to suggest a season is something bigger than a winter. Seasons mean change. Seasons mean growth. Seasons mean shifts. Seasons mean shedding and growth. We move through seasons together. We climb together, hand over hand, foothold to foothold, breath after breath, stretching and reaching. Staying soft amidst it all. The trick is to not get beat up too much along the way. February feels like cresting a glacier. We have made our way up. Gathering steam. Summoning wonder. Feeling both hot and cold. Noticing the blue ice and the sun’s glare. Lifting our arms to touch the sky. Changed by it all. Climbing means growth and change.

Beyer explains, “But the sensation of joy slips too quickly into simulacra.” I had to look up simulacra. Simulacra loosely means to become an imitation or image of something. We can find and lose joy. There can be fake joy — fake joy that does its best to convince, persuade, hide, lie about, dance around what is happening inside. Fake joy makes true joy more difficult to discern, experience, and protect.

After a climb is the perfect time to experience joy. When the season has ended. When the pain has been felt and healing begins. When breath has returned. When we have perspective. When a vast expanse has opened. That joy is a soft place. That joy smells sweet. That joy knows past, present, and future. Ragged fingernails grasp it with every ounce of strength trying to hold on to mint perfection. That is February.