It has snowed here, as my faithful companion Maynard can attest to. He loves the snow. He’s fully in the moment when he rolls in it and playfully tosses his Kong ball. Like a bear, though, I want to hibernate. That is not what I get to do. The best I can do is sit tucked in my blanket on
a cold Sunday morning. Eventually, I’ll get out and take Maynard for a walk.
It’s probably in the middle of winter that I find it most difficult to write. The short days have sunk in. The cold penetrates my core and I just want to sit back and do as little as possible, but I won’t. I’ll keep at everything because I have to, because my body needs words.
As with more than half of America, we are struggling to make ends meet. We both took leaps at the same time, leaps with great risk. I have read people’s thoughts on risk taking and the idea that risks should be calculated. Still, even the best calculated risks are frightening. It wouldn’t be a risk, if there wasn’t the potential for failure. So, we are mid-flight in our risky leaps and, as to be expected, things at times feel exhilarating and at other times feel down right terrifying.
It’s at the moment when it is most terrifying that it is hardest to stay focused, but I have to remember then to stay in the moment, to let go of regret, to keep moving forward. After all, regret is rooted in fear and fear leads to ruts. I hate ruts. I’ve been stuck in too many of them only because for my whole life I feared the act of taking a leap.
So, I’ll just continue to plug away at my dreams, continue to understand that in mid-flight there is not going back to where things felt safe. There is only what’s below (or ahead).
And Maynard? Well, he reminds me that sometimes the best antidote for fear is taking a moment to play in the snow with a friend.