Everything is possible
Sigh, I do so love spring. In May, when the leaves unfurl and light extends into evening, I believe that everything wonderful can happen. I am filled with such hope and happiness. Yet with that happiness, just around the edges where I can just sense it, sadness lives. Nothing lasts forever, especially not May.
This wistfulness that accompanies this wonder has often left me frightened and unable to truly feel the possibilities of spring. Sadness is something we shrink back from, it can hollow us out from the inside. So, for a long time, I pushed down joy so that I could avoid sadness.
This season of my life comes with a lot of uncertainty. The thrill of escape has turned into a bit of Now what? With that uncertainty comes a tinge of fear at the edges, as though there’s a dark chasm just out of sight. A friend of mine found a secret trap door in her basement leading to a cistern (yes, really), and it feels at times like an unfathomable pit might lie in wait for me to fall into as I clean out the house of my life.
Or maybe not.
Just as I once pushed down joy in order to avoid sadness, I have often rushed along in order to avoid having to sit with the now what?
Over the years, I’ve learned to accept that life changes and ebbs and flows and that May passes into summer. I can experience the wonder of this time of year while it is happening, because I have accepted, that, like the lilacs of spring, it does not last.
And so, I am sitting with uncertainty, believing that a wonderful answer to Now what? will come to me in the stillness.
After all, it is still May, and everything is possible.
Snaps from the last couple of weeks around the Lakes Region of New Hampshire.