Letters to Myself: Entry Thirty-Eight
Prompt: What smell brings a sense of warmth and coziness?
A reflection on how scent anchors memory, warmth, and connection. This piece explores how the smell of wood ash and fire can bring us back to stillness, grounding us in moments of peace, gratitude, and shared humanity.
I like this question because smell carries memory in a way nothing else does. It bypasses logic and lands straight in the body. For me, the smell that brings the strongest sense of warmth and comfort is wood ash.
Whenever I smell a fire, whether it’s a campfire in the summer or a fire burning indoors during winter, it immediately brings me back to a quieter place. That smell is tied to downtime. To rest. To moments where nothing else is being asked of you except to exist. People gather around a fire for warmth, for light, or simply to watch it breathe. And in those moments, life slows to a pace that feels human again.
There’s something almost sacred about it. Fire can carry darkness with it, the act of burning, the ash in the air, but for me, it has always represented peace. Like a vigil. A place where people sit together under natural light, finding comfort not in words, but in presence. In shared silence. In knowing you’re not alone.
That smell floods me with memories. Old ones, and sometimes the promise of new ones. Fires invite connection. Conversations unfold. Disagreements come and go. Stories are shared. Even when opinions differ, something about sitting around a fire reminds us that connection matters more than being right. It grounds us back into our shared humanity.
You find this smell in other places too. BBQ smoke drifting through the air. Wood-fired pizza. S’mores melting over embers. Each one carries the same warmth. And yes, fire has its downsides. The smoke, the irritation, the reminder of its power, but even that feels honest. Fire gives and takes. Like life itself.
Writing this has already made me long for warmer days ahead. For evenings spent outside, a fire crackling nearby, the world feeling just a little less heavy. Moments like that remind you where you are. They humble you. They give you permission to breathe again.
Smells matter. If you’re still able to notice them, if you can still identify what brings you comfort, hold onto that. Keep it alive. Light the fire. Brew the coffee. Cook the food that reminds you of home. These small sensory moments tether us to living fully, even when the world feels dim.
They remind us that warmth still exists. And sometimes, that’s enough.
This post is part of my "Letters to Myself" series — a weekly free-write blog where I explore personal growth, curiosity, and healing through simple prompts. Sometimes reflective, sometimes fun, but always real. Thank you for being here.
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Photo by Kyle Gare
