You know that first warm day of spring? The one where you step outside and suddenly feel like reorganizing your entire life, starting seventeen new projects, and finally becoming the person who wakes up at 5 AM to journal? Here's a radical thought: what if we just... didn't?
The Spring Productivity Lie
Every year, spring rolls around and suddenly everyone's talking about "spring cleaning" and "fresh starts" and "new beginnings." The energy shifts, the days get longer, and there's this collective pressure to match nature's renewal with our own frantic activity.
I fell for this for years. The first nice weekend would arrive and I'd create elaborate to-do lists. Deep clean the apartment. Start a garden. Begin a new exercise routine. Reorganize every closet. The list would grow until it became this oppressive document of all the ways I was failing to capitalize on the season.
Here's what I've learned: spring doesn't actually require anything from you. The flowers are going to bloom whether or not you clean out your garage. The days will lengthen regardless of your productivity levels. Nature's doing its thing—you don't have to earn your place in it.
The trees don't stress about whether they're blooming fast enough. They just bloom when they bloom.
What Nature Actually Does
If you watch what's actually happening in spring, it's not frantic at all. Yes, there's growth and change, but it happens gradually. Buds appear slowly. Birds build nests one twig at a time. The grass greens up over weeks, not overnight.
Nature in spring is the opposite of rushing. It's patient expansion. It's things warming up and stretching out and taking their time. The energy isn't "go go go"—it's more like a long, slow exhale after winter's holding pattern.
This is what spring lampin' can look like: matching that energy instead of fighting it. Sitting outside and watching things slowly wake up. Noticing which trees bud first. Feeling the air temperature shift day by day. It's an observational practice, not a productive one.
Pick one tree or plant you can see from a regular lampin' spot. Watch it change over the course of spring. No photos needed—just notice. You'll be surprised how much you see when you're paying attention.
The Outdoor Transition
Winter lampin' is largely an indoor sport. Spring is when we get to migrate back outside, but it happens in stages. Early spring is tricky—warm enough to want to be outside, but often still cold enough to regret it after twenty minutes.
The key is being realistic about conditions. That first 55-degree day feels tropical after winter, but it's still jacket weather. The ground might be wet. The wind might have bite. Spring lampin' often means layers and accepting some discomfort in exchange for fresh air.
But there's something special about those transitional days. Sitting outside when it's almost-but-not-quite warm enough, feeling the season change in real time. The sun has actual warmth again. You can smell the dirt thawing. These are the details that make spring lampin' its own distinct thing.
Spring Cleaning (The Chill Version)
Okay, I'm not saying never clean anything. But here's a gentler approach than the usual spring cleaning frenzy:
One thing at a time. Instead of a massive weekend overhaul, do one small area. One drawer. One shelf. Then stop and go sit outside for a while.
Follow your energy, not a checklist. Some days you might feel like organizing. Great, do that. Other days you might feel like sitting in the sun watching nothing happen. Also great, do that.
Let some mess be. Everything doesn't have to be perfect for spring to happen. The season will change regardless of the state of your closets.
Spring cleaning is optional. Spring existing is not. Might as well enjoy the existing part.
Reading the Season
Spring is maybe the best season for sitting outside with a book. The light is soft. The temperature is moderate. There's enough activity to look up at occasionally, but not so much that it's distracting.
I keep a spring reading spot—a bench that gets afternoon sun but has a tree starting to leaf out above it. Over the course of the season, that spot goes from full sun to dappled shade. I read the same way I watch the season: slowly, no rush, putting the book down when something interesting happens nearby.
The books I read in spring tend to stick with me differently. Maybe it's the outdoor context, maybe it's the associations, but I remember spring books better. The smell of the pages mixes with the smell of the air. The story interweaves with whatever's happening around me.
Leave your phone inside when you go out to read. If you need to look something up, write it down and look it up later. The point is immersion—in the book and in the spring day around you.
The Permission to Not Emerge
Here's something nobody talks about: sometimes spring makes you tired. All that "renewal energy" everyone's celebrating? For some of us, it's actually exhausting. The pressure to be outdoorsy and active and fresh can feel like a lot.
If spring makes you want to nap more, that's fine. If you're not ready to emerge from your winter cocoon, that's fine too. Bears don't pop out of hibernation and immediately run a marathon. They ease into it. They're groggy for a while. They take their time.
You're allowed to take your time too. Spring will be there whether you greet it enthusiastically or sleepily. The flowers don't care if you're watching.
The Slow Bloom
My favorite spring lampin' practice is finding somewhere with flowering trees and just sitting near them. Not doing anything with them—not photographing them or identifying them or making them into content. Just being near something that's blooming.
There's something almost embarrassingly simple about it. You sit. The tree exists. Petals occasionally fall. The breeze carries that particular spring flower smell. Nothing happens, but it feels like everything is happening.
This is the heart of spring lampin': witnessing the season without trying to optimize it. Letting the renewal be something that happens around you, not something you have to generate yourself. The world is waking up. You can just watch.
Spring doesn't need your productivity. It just needs you to notice it's here.