Sensory Saturdays began as a very literal interpretation of alliteration. Its inception was twofold: Surface level, it was intended as a gentle reminder to write more and blog regularly whilst juggling school, an internship, and dance gig. Delve a little deeper and it served as a constant, buzzing reminder to always be present. To observe and reflect. To record and write. To see and experience all things, no matter how seemingly insignificant.
The series died down after a year or so. Whether or not that was just the natural progression of things or, more sinister, a sign that I was just go-go-going, I’ll leave that up to you: but it can’t be mere coincidence that since hitting pause on Sensory Saturdays (and blogging as a whole, unfortunately), I’ve felt stagnant—and stuck in that state. Adulthood will do that to you, people would say. It’s the downside of a demanding career, others would reassure me. All accurate, but feeling. stifled. sucks.
It’s not all grim though, I promise. What goes up must go down, and what feels flat can’t be just that forever. The world is round, good vibes ebb and flow—and I’m beginning to get back in the groove of, well, me.*
Literally stopping to smell the roses will expedite the process; it’s hard not to feel inspired when you’re surrounded by fresh, colorful blooms. I basically got a guided tour of the Flower District from Kelly (bona fide flower expert and Martha Stewart verified!) last Saturday: we visited the best shops, she shared her little tips and tricks, we sniffed rainbow bouquets at every turn. How could you not feel alive after wandering through aisles and aisles of nature’s most beautiful creations? How could you not be in awe?
I’m rusty with words so I won’t even try to put into writing what I saw. I will, one day—but for now, each picture is worth a thousand words.
. . .
Read more of the series here.
xx
*I won’t even begin to attribute it to the giant hunk of Madagascar celestite now sitting in my kitchen, though it acts as a gorgeous reminder that growing pains are normal, if not a thing to aspire to have since the light at the end of the tunnel always reveals something bigger, brighter, and more beautiful. I say reminder not because it so happened to be a stone of transition and communication I happened to gravitate towards, but because it’s a literal reminder of this process. Long story short, I kept reaching for this stone and took it home with me, and while cleaning it, discovered it was completely. covered. in. clay. After an hour of painstakingly chipping and scrubbing, more of its crystal innards were revealed. Hence: a reminder.
Your turn. Thoughts?