We’re almost a third of the way through this year. I’ve slogged my way through most of it, lifting one heavy, mud-caked foot after the other, in a fugue-like state. I can’t say why.
This is life. It’s not always mountain top and it’s not always valley, sometimes it’s mile after mile of flat nothing-to-see prairie. You’d think I’d be comfortable here, for some reason I’m not.
It’s a lie to say that there’s nothing to see on the prairie. On the contrary: some of the greatest gifts are there. I challenge myself to be still, lean in, and listen—the very things I write about in my new book, the things I know I need.
Right now, the April gray isn’t helping anything at all. Early this morning I saw something magical in the red eastern sky that sparked delight. It didn’t linger, and soon the gray overtook it, but it was there for a time nonetheless.
And so, Monday of the last full week of the gray month and an opportunity to do something different, to begin again. Onward.