February 8th: Filling the Heart with Homemade Sweets
A morning on a day off.
Without being chased by an alarm clock, I wake up a little slowly.
Watching the light through the curtains, I confirm that today is a day where I don't have to do anything.
Just that alone makes the tension in my shoulders ease a little.
With no plans to go out, I find myself standing in the kitchen.
I open the fridge and check for butter and eggs.
There are no special ingredients, but
I think, "I could probably make cookies."
That small idea becomes the start of my day.
Measuring, mixing, and shaping.
I feel the texture of the dough changing in the bowl with my fingertips.
My mind is quiet, focused only on what I need to do next.
Before I know it, the noise that was there just a moment ago has drifted far away.
When working as a nurse,
most of the day is spent "for someone else."
The other person's physical condition, mood, pain, and anxiety.
To respond to those, my own senses are often put on the back burner.
When busy days continue,
I lose even the capacity to notice that I am tired.
Because I can still keep moving on the job,
I convince myself that "I'm still okay."
But when the caregiver wears themselves thin,
something is bound to give way eventually.
Precisely because it is a job of caring for people,
taking care of oneself must not be put off.
It is not self-indulgence; it is necessary preparation.
Just as you cannot administer an IV if the bag is empty,
if your own heart is empty, kindness cannot last.
In psychology, this kind of behavior
is called "action-based self-care."
It is a method where you don't wait until your mood is right to act,
but rather move your body first, and your heart follows later.
Homemade sweets are a prime example of this.
Even if you fail, it's not a big problem.
The completion is visible, and you are left with a tangible "I did it."
That accumulation gradually restores one's self-esteem.
A karate straight punch is very similar.
Just swinging your arm around won't transmit power.
You align your posture, stabilize your center of gravity, and
focus all your concentration into a single point for just an instant.
That density determines the quality of the technique.
The time spent moving my hands while baking
has a feeling close to that density of a straight punch.
Distracting thoughts flow away, and my consciousness gathers here and now.
Past failures and tomorrow's anxieties
are set aside for the moment.
The sweet scent drifting from the oven.
I gently open the door to check the browning.
Warm air hits my face, and
I think, "Oh, it turned out well."
This moment, too, is a proper form of self-care.
When it's done, you don't have to clean up right away.
You don't have to eat it in a hurry.
Pick one up and savor it slowly.
The crisp sound, the sweetness spreading in your mouth,
the warmth remaining on your fingertips.
By feeling with all five senses,
the heart is gradually filled.
This is not a luxury, but a process of recovery.
A quiet maintenance to keep going through busy days.
Yesterday was a day to simply accept feeling low.
Today is a day to fill myself up just a little.
You don't have to become full of energy all at once.
It's fine to just slowly get back in balance like this.
Today's moon prescription consists of these three things:
1. Create one hour to focus on manual work
2. Savor what you've made without rushing
3. Be conscious of your five senses, such as scent, sound, and touch
A sense of fulfillment will properly carry over to the next day.
Today, too, I am taking care of myself.
That alone is enough.
Honoka Yuki