Qi Node 1: 立春 Lìchūn (Spring Begins)

When the Ice Cracks and the World Begins Again

It’s quiet, but it’s not still.

Lichun arrives each year not with fanfare or dramatic transformation, but with a subtle shift. A sense that something has changed—barely perceptible, but undeniably present. It’s the first qi node of the new year in the Chinese lunisolar calendar, often translated as the “Beginning of Spring,” though that translation doesn’t quite capture its nuance. It’s not yet Spring in the way we often imagine it, full of blossoms and warmth. It’s something earlier, more tentative. A soft return to movement after the long exhale of winter.

There’s something sacred in that subtlety. Lìchūn marks the beginning of upward motion, of Yang returning after its deep winter slumber. And in a world that often celebrates only the boldest gestures of change, it’s worth pausing to acknowledge the importance of these smaller, quieter beginnings.

While the weather may not yet embody the change, nature is already in motion. Beneath the frozen ground, roots are waking. Tree buds, though still tightly curled, are starting to form. Migratory birds begin their subtle shifts, sensing what we cannot yet see. The days, just barely, stretch a little longer. Lichun isn’t a season—it’s a moment. A threshold. One we often miss if we aren’t paying attention.

This phase corresponds to the Wood element in Chinese medicine—a phase characterized by growth, movement, and vision. But like all beginnings, this movement is not without its discomfort. Think of it as the feeling in your body when you’ve been curled up too long and start to stretch: it’s awkward, maybe even a little painful, but it feels necessary. There’s a restlessness here, a desire to begin moving forward, even if you’re not quite sure where you’re headed.

This is the energetic mood of Lìchūn. An invitation to engage, to begin emerging from stillness—but gently, without rushing.

On Not Forcing Spring

It’s tempting to respond to any New Year—or new beginning—with intensity. Set goals. Make plans. Transform everything all at once. But Lichun teaches something different. It suggests a slower rhythm, one aligned with the barely waking Earth rather than our cultural drive for instant reinvention.

If Winter has been a time of reflection and conservation, Lichun is the first stretch toward renewal. Not with force, but with curiosity. It’s a time to notice what ideas or desires are beginning to stir. What has been incubating during your quieter months that might now want light?

In Daoist thought, and particularly within the framework of Chinese medicine, health is not something we chase with discipline or self-denial. It’s a relationship we tend, slowly and consistently, through alignment with the natural world. And this time of year is not about dramatic action—it’s about orientation. It’s about feeling where the new growth wants to emerge.

Rather than charging ahead, this season invites us to take stock. To ask ourselves, softly, where we’re headed. And more importantly, why. The energy of Wood longs to move forward, to grow, to create. But it moves best when it has direction—not rigid, but intentional.

We often associate Spring with cleaning, with purging, with detoxing. But Lìchūn doesn’t require us to be harsh. The impulse to "clear out" is natural, but the method can be gentler. What we’re really doing is making space—for movement, for vision, for change. And just like in nature, not everything needs to be uprooted at once. Some things need to stay a little longer, to finish breaking down, to become part of the fertile soil of what comes next.

What To Do:

This early part of the year is a beautiful time to align your daily habits with the returning energy of the world around you. Here are some ways to step into the Lichun season with care and intention:

Move with Purpose, Not Pressure

You don’t need to launch into an intense exercise routine right now. Instead, look for movement that feels like a stretch—not just physically, but emotionally and energetically. Gentle yoga, long walks in changing weather, qi gong, or just a few minutes each day of free movement to music can help your body re-engage with flow after winter’s stillness.

If you can, move outside. Even if it’s brisk. Just don’t work up a sweat exposed to the elements. Let your body feel the season, and let your senses begin to wake up with it.

Support Your Digestion with Seasonal Foods

As your internal systems begin to re-activate, your digestion will appreciate foods that are both warming and gently activating. Light broths with scallions and fresh ginger, young greens sautéed with sesame oil and rice vinegar, and lightly fermented vegetables can support your Liver system and help encourage healthy movement of qi.

This is also the time to reintroduce a bit of sour flavor into your meals—lemon, vinegar, pickles—all of which help stimulate the Liver’s transformative function. Think less “cleanse” and more “tend.”

Make Space, Not War

You don’t need to deep-clean your entire home or empty your closet Marie Kondo–style. But consider clearing one small area: a corner of your desk, your nightstand, your kitchen table. Not to punish yourself for winter’s messiness, but to open a little room for something new. Lìchūn is a great time to begin rearranging—not just physically, but mentally. Reassess what commitments, obligations, or assumptions might need a little pruning.

Reconnect with Vision

In Chinese medicine, the Liver is associated with both physical vision and our capacity for long-term planning and dreaming. What would it look like to gently reawaken your sense of direction—not as a set of goals, but as a feeling tone? Maybe it's a color. A landscape. A phrase. Something that points you toward growth without demanding it.

You don’t have to know the full plan. Just begin to imagine the shape of it.