There are a few things that really make me feel good in that comfort-food sort of way, that deeply happy satisifying way that makes the cares of the world disappear for a while. One is dirt. The other is the internal combustion engine.
I need my hands in dirt or my soul* dies.
I did some repotting this afternoon, and in the process realized that my new kitchen sink works nicely for indoor gardening work. Dirt on my hands and the sound of a NASCAR race in my ears gives me hope that spring IS coming, even if it's 10 degrees right now and there's snow everywhere.
These orchids feed my soul, too.
Learning to grow orchids well is a long process. Pulling off a flowering with twice as many flowers as what I bought the plant with feels really dang good. (The trick seems to have been having the plant outdoors on the front porch all summer...and a winter home very near a chilly window. It's probably never above 63 in the spot where it's been, even when the main heat is turned up.)
Another thing that feeds my soul is sound of a pack of racing engines screaming towards me. My breath catches, my heart skips, and the hair on the back of my neck stands up.
Road America is my happy place. I need to go at least once a year or I die a little.
Everything about Pearl lowers my blood pressure. The seats are perfect. The interior is laid out in a way designed just for how my brain works. Everything is sized just right for my (lack of) height and my little hands. Even the way the car smells inside is soothing: old wool carpet, vinyl, a hint of hot oil smell. It's a perfect package that makes me feel more human and more myself and more calm every time I take her out.
What feeds your soul?
*Of course I mean "soul" here in the secular, colloquial sense, that of our deepest heart and passions. In the more correct, theological sense, our souls cannot die, because they are immortal.