Vitamin P

Dear Crew,

I was sitting at my desk. And right in the thick of it. Announcing my fall schedule and working through a long to-do list. Who hasn't been there?

At some point, I needed a break.

So I got up and danced. Just one song, I thought…

I danced in front of the mirror, watched myself, and thought, “I look pretty good today.” Then I started touching my body . Gently caressing myself.

During the next song, I started singing. And I lit a candle. Then I felt like playing my Shruti Box, so I sat down on the floor and began singing along with it. And since my deck of cards was lying next to me, I drew a card: Pifilka. The pipe.

I had to laugh. In my “Circle of the Cosmos ,” Pifilka belongs to the element of air. She reminds us to give voice to our own inner movement. Breath meets form, and something becomes audible. It doesn’t have to sound beautiful, and it doesn’t need an audience. Sometimes it’s enough for your own body to hear itself.

So I kept singing. I hummed. I made noises. It got silly. And at some point, I was laughing so hard I was doubled over.

And then it suddenly occurred to me: I'll do that on Friday during my Shamanic Self-Love Journey.

And a moment later: Wait a minute. I'm in the middle of a Shamanic Self-Love Journey!

I had danced. Looked at myself. Touched myself. Expressed myself. Lit a candle. Played an instrument. Responded to a card. Laughed!

I hadn't planned any of it. It just came out of me.

So funny! Because over the past few days, a part of me kept thinking: I still need to get ready for Friday. Jot down a few more things. Go over the schedule one more time.

My body apparently had a different opinion on the matter: Um. Nope!

I think I just needed something different today. Vitamin P.

To me, "Vitamin P" is an ironic term for pills. My "Vitamin P" looks a little different right now:

Breaks. A pause during which the next task isn't already waiting.

Pleasure. Looking at myself and liking what I see. Touch. Enjoyment. A body that likes itself.

Play. Do something where the outcome doesn't matter at all. Sing, even though no one is listening. Make noises just because they're fun. Paint. Dance. Try things out.

And as of today: Pifilka. Letting the air dance through you and listening to what emerges.

I'm pulling my warm sweaters out again. And at the same time, I have this strange feeling: Summer is just beginning inside me.

Because I long for color. I want to run through the city with loud music playing instead of just walking all the time. I bought myself a colorful acrylic table where I can paint and do crafts without having to clear off my desk first.

I want to dress up. Sing. Laugh. And play!

I think that’s the reward for all the work that came before. After all, a plant doesn’t spend its entire life healing its roots. At some point, it blooms. And the flower doesn’t have to start working on itself again right away. It can simply be a flower.

For a long time, I asked myself: What do I need to feel good? That's an important question.

But right now, another thought is creeping in: What brings me joy?

Neither: “What makes sense? ” nor: “What regulates my nervous system?”

Instead: What makes my eyes light up? What is so unnecessary that it’s actually delightful? Where does something want to come out of me before I’ve even written a plan for it?

Maybe you’re longing for that, too? Maybe your “Vitamin P” today is five minutes of music in the kitchen. Maybe it’s a break. A slice of cake. A silly sound. A color. A piece of clothing that’s been hanging neglected in the closet for far too long. An idea that doesn’t have to lead anywhere. Or something that only you know about.

We spend an astonishing amount of time creating the conditions that allow us to function. Perhaps we can also create the conditions that allow us to play.

My fall starts with warm sweaters, a yellow blanket, a rainbow-colored table, and a pretty high dose of Vitamin P. If you experience side effects like spontaneous joy, silly noises, or an urgent need to dance— just keep going!

With love and an extra dose,
Jeannette