The Journaling Muse – Issue #52 Perfume in the Front Row
A weekly journaling letter for slowing down and coming back to yourself.
Through colour, texture, and expressive journaling, the Journaling Muse offers a gentle space to soothe your nervous system and reconnect with your inner world.
Dear Reader,
The temperature drops quickly here once the sun sets. I know it will be cold, but it still surprises me how fast the air turns sharp. The parking lot had kept some warmth from the afternoon sun, and for a moment it felt almost manageable. The cold only truly hit when I stepped out of the car and started walking toward the Opera House.
It was biting. I pulled my scarf over my face and tried to walk faster, but the snow had turned to ice where it hadn’t been cleared. Elegant shoes are not made for that kind of ground. We moved carefully, quickly, toward the doors — and the relief was immediate.
Warm air. Light. Voices.
The cafeteria was already alive, welcoming arrivals with that particular mood of anticipation. A glass of wine. Strauss. An evening held together by music.
What surprised me most came later.
The female lead was sitting next to me in the first row. I could smell her perfume, feel how close she was. During the carnival scene, the performers stepped off the stage and moved between the chairs, so near that the distance between watching and being there dissolved. They flirted with the audience, laughed, crossed boundaries lightly and playfully.
For a moment, I wasn’t remembering joy from another time. I was inside it.
Childhood memories returned: masks, hidden identities, the warmth and mischief of carnival winters. I didn’t try to hold onto the feeling or recreate it. I simply noticed what had made it possible: closeness, shared space, being drawn in rather than observing from afar.
Winter outside didn’t soften. But something in me did.
A Few Gentle Prompts
If you feel like writing, choose just one.
- Recall a recent moment when you stepped from discomfort into relief — cold to warmth, tension to ease. What changed first in your body?
- Think of a time when distance dissolved: you were no longer watching, but inside the moment. What allowed that closeness?
- Where in your life right now are you standing just outside the door — not excluded, but not fully in either?
- What kind of warmth helps you most in harsh conditions: movement, music, memory, shared presence, or something else entirely?
Carrying Warmth
This is not about fixing winter. It’s about bringing something with you when the world feels hard.
The Invitation
Choose one small source of warmth or ease you can carry through the day. Not metaphorical. Literal.
How to do it (very simple)
1. Choose your warmth
For example: – a scarf you like touching – a piece of music you hum or replay later – the memory of a moment that felt alive (the Opera, laughter, movement) – a cup you enjoy holding
2. Stay with it briefly
For one minute, notice: – where it lives in your body – what it softens, even slightly
No reflection needed. Just noticing.
3. Make a single mark
In your journal, write one line only: “Today I carried…”
A Little Talisman for This Week
I don’t need to recreate joy — I need to step closer to where it’s happening.
With warmth,
Beáta
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No matter what you choose, I’m thankful our paths have touched. 🌿
