Finding February
Clearing as a path to love
How do you discover what you love?
This might seem like a silly question—especially in February, the season of grand demonstrations on this very topic.
Our ego will likely defend us here. It can answer who I love with ease (or maybe who we dream of loving). But this month, I’d like to take things a bit deeper and explore how we connect with what we love.
I stalled out last week in writing, even though I love the process. Writing, art, creativity, movement—these are things I crave here in the midjourney.
But I honestly stalled coming into the pressure of February.
So I did what I often do.
I began looking at the history of the word.
February. Februare in Latin, means purification.
Back in agrarian times, it was the last month of the year before calendars held twelve months. It marked the ending and the clearing—the purification of the fields before new growth. Like most things, there were traditions, festivals, and mythology woven into these practices. March was the beginning of the new year.
Clearing.
Clearing what needs to come next.
Much like the blank space of last week. Nothing sent out.
This may seem odd, especially in current times when every aisle—and soon every corner—is filled with flowers, balloons, heart-shaped candy boxes, and other symbols of love. Romantic love.
But what if it’s the opposite?
What if clearing comes first?
There are all kinds of ways we love. Love is connection. But when layers and layers accumulate—when conditions become crowded or heavy—the soil becomes infertile.
So last week, I began some purification practices.
I often use clarifying rituals. Most familiar to me are burning sage, incense, or engaging fragrance to clear the air and renew my mind, spirit, and thoughts. Scent reminds me of the sacred.
And within a day or two, I found myself clearing my office.
I love books. They have long been my resources—my escapes, my deep waters to swim in after years of practice. And I have a lot of them.
Yet in midlife, my neurodivergent brain is even less able to focus in deep dives. My TBR (to-be-read) stack was taller than my nearly six-foot frame.
So I packed them up.
And I let them go.
I didn’t count them. I thanked them.
I thanked them with intention, and I let that intention be transmuted into something new through release.
I gifted them to a nonprofit nurturing new therapists and healthcare workers.
Perhaps that was the books’ purpose all along—to find their way into other spaces.
Strangely, I find myself happier. Freer. Lighter in my space.
I have more room now for the midlife work, coaching, and therapy I’m doing.
I can focus just a little more. I can lean in and listen—to the words of others—as they find their own way to clear their inner fields.
I leaned into finding more of what I love.
So my question for you this week:
What is calling you into purification?
Not performance. Not output. Not the heart-shaped boxes or the pressure to demonstrate love in prescribed ways.
But the quiet clearing. The gentle releasing. The making of space for what wants to return—or what wants to arrive new.
Maybe the voice doesn’t arrive through accumulation. Maybe it returns through letting go.
This week’s practice
Find one thing in your space that you’ve been holding onto—not because you love it, but because you think you should.
A book. A project. An old obligation.
Thank it.
And consider releasing it.
Notice what softness arrives when you make space.
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With care,
Julie Cardoza
Creator of Ecotheraplay™