How to Fall

Over the weekend, the girls and I took a trip to the playground, where an amazing thing happened: My little one, the firecracker, finally got the swing of the monkey bars.  

She made it two rungs, then fell.  She got back up.  She made it four rungs, then fell.  She got back up.  She fell straight away.  She got back up.  A few short minutes later and she had managed eight rungs in a row before falling, and she was beaming with excitement.  But she wasn't a big fan of the falling part.  

I found myself coaching her on how to fall.  I explained to her that, just like with learning how to do the monkey bars, falling takes practice.  "You've got to practice falling so you can learn how to fall without getting hurt." 

There are a few keys to falling safely, you see.

• You have to remain calm. You can't do the things you need to do to protect yourself from harm if you panic and flail about.
  

• You have to expect to hit the ground. Maybe there's someone to catch you and if so, that's wonderful. Safety nets and loving arms are fantastic for falling into. But they're not always there. Recognize that you are capable of controlling the fall and landing on your own two feet, when things slip out of your grasp.
  

• You have to fall with those two feet beneath you, so that when you land, you can hold yourself up. If you can get your two feet beneath you, if you can do whatever is in your power to help yourself, you can steady yourself and rise back up to standing.
  

• You have to bend your knees when you land, so you can handle the weight of the fall. You have to stay flexible so you can adapt to the new ground you're standing on and find your balance.
  

• You have to go easy on yourself when a fall doesn't go as planned, when all the things you've tried to do to protect to yourself have failed and you hit rock bottom and fall flat on your face. Not everything goes to plan and you did your best. Falling takes practice.

My daughter thinks that the idea of practicing falling is pretty hilarious.  That's okay.  She already understands the most important thing about falling:  You have to get back up.

Orlando

“What is this?"

Sometimes, kids ask difficult questions.  For example: A couple of years ago, on a regular Tuesday afternoon, I had picked the kids up from school and we were driving home when my daughter casually asked, “How are babies made?”

Whoa.  Hands at 10 and 2, Mama. Deep breath.  Buckle up.

That’s what we’re here for, as the adults.  We’re the ones to ask the difficult questions.  We’re the ones who are supposed to have the answers.  But sometimes, the answers aren't easy.

“What is this?” my eight-year-old daughter asked me, yesterday morning.  She was holding up a candle, a simple white candle pushed through the bottom of a white paper cup. 

I was given the candle at a vigil I attended Monday evening for the 49 people killed in the Orlando nightclub shooting.  The vigil was sad but beautiful.  Hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder, crying eyes to shoulder, we filled our city’s market square.  Nearly a thousand of us, someone has estimated.  We signed our names in a book of condolences.  We sang John Lennon's Imagine.  We observed a minute of silence.  Small acts of solidarity, but important ones.  

A young girl handed out little hearts her mom had crocheted.  She had given away over a hundred of them, her mom told me.  

Chalk hearts on the pavement, 49 of them, encircled the names of those lost.  I walked the path alongside them, read the names and ages, repeated them quietly in my head.  Anthony Luis Laureanodisla.  25 years old.  Javier Jorge-Reyes.  40 years old.  Akyra Monet Murray.  18 years old.  Far too many hearts, far too young.  I wished them peace.

“What is this?”  How do you answer a question like that?

I tried my best to explain the inexplicable. 

That 49 people had been killed at a dance party.  49 people who had family and friends and dreams for their lives.

That there are people in the world who think that men shouldn't love men and women shouldn't love women.  That those people who think that are wrong.  Love is love. 

That even though we didn't know those 49 people personally, there are many of us around the world who are grieving and gathering together.  That you don't need to know someone to love them.

I hesitated to tell them where this happened because although we need to say the word, we need to shout it, us grown ups who have to find the answers, to my little girls "Orlando" is the home of Disney World, the pinnacle of all things joyful.  I want them to know about what happened but I don't want them to be afraid.  Of that place, of anything.

"I like you, Mama," my five-year-old daughter said.  "Are you going to be killed?" 

Deep breath. 

"No, baby."   I assured her that we are safe, hoping this would be a self-fulfilling prophecy.

A few words before the school bus came.  A few insufficient words, but the conversation has begun.  It will continue, as long as it has to.  Which I hope is not long.  I hope that soon there is no need for conversations like this one.

These white candles come in packages that say they are for emergency use. They’re meant for times when the unexpected happens and the lights go out. This time we’ve come to now, this qualifies. This is an emergency. The lights have gone out and we must now sound the alarms and set things right, and shine the light.

“Can we keep it?”  My children know by now that their mother’s default position is to recycle, donate and otherwise get rid of anything not chained down around here.  

Yes, we will keep the vigil candle.  But only as a memento, I hope.  I hope that we never face this kind of emergency again.  I hope this candle gathers dust.  

I hope that one day my grandchildren pull this bizarre contraption - this antique, this relic - out of a box of their grandmother's strange keepsakes and ask, confused:

 “What is this?”

*****

Please view Anderson Cooper's tribute to the 49 beautiful people we lost too soon.  I will list their names here, but as he says, "They are more than a list of names. They are people who loved and who were loved."

Stanley Almodovar III, 23 years old

Amanda Alvear, 25 years old

Oscar A Aracena-Montero, 26 years old

Rodolfo Ayala-Ayala, 33 years old

Antonio Davon Brown, 29 years old

Darryl Roman Burt II, 29 years old

Angel L. Candelario-Padro, 28 years old

Juan Chevez-Martinez, 25 years old

Luis Daniel Conde, 39 years old

Cory James Connell, 21 years old

Tevin Eugene Crosby, 25 years old

Deonka Deidra Drayton, 32 years old

Simon Adrian Carrillo Fernandez, 31 years old

Leroy Valentin Fernandez, 25 years old

Mercedez Marisol Flores, 26 years old

Peter O. Gonzalez-Cruz, 22 years old

Juan Ramon Guerrero, 22 years old

Paul Terrell Henry, 41 years old

Frank Hernandez, 27 years old

Miguel Angel Honorato, 30 years old

Javier Jorge-Reyes, 40 years old

Jason Benjamin Josaphat, 19 years old

Eddie Jamoldroy Justice, 30 years old

Anthony Luis Laureanodisla, 25 years old

Christopher Andrew Leinonen, 32 years old

Alejandro Barrios Martinez, 21 years old

Brenda Lee Marquez McCool, 49 years old

Gilberto Ramon Silva Menendez, 25 years old

Kimberly Morris, 37 years old

Akyra Monet Murray, 18 years old

Luis Omar Ocasio-Capo, 20 years old

Geraldo A. Ortiz-Jimenez, 25 years old

Eric Ivan Ortiz-Rivera, 36 years old

Joel Rayon Paniagua, 32 years old

Jean Carlos Mendez Perez, 35 years old

Enrique L. Rios, Jr., 25 years old

Jean C. Nives Rodriguez, 27 years old

Xavier Emmanuel Serrano Rosado, 35 years old

Christopher Joseph Sanfeliz, 24 years old

Yilmary Rodriguez Solivan, 24 years old

Edward Sotomayor Jr., 34 years old

Shane Evan Tomlinson, 33 years old

Martin Benitez Torres, 33 years old

Jonathan Antonio Camuy Vega, 24 years old

Juan P. Rivera Velazquez, 37 years old

Luis S. Vielma, 22 years old

Franky Jimmy Dejesus Velazquez, 50 years old

Luis Daniel Wilson-Leon, 37 years old

Jerald Arthur Wright, 31 years old

(Source: City of Orlando website)

BYOB

Thanks, me. You're the best!

How do you love to be loved? 

I think that we each have a unique answer to this question, and likely a long one.  There are a lot of different ways we love and show our love for one another.  We tell someone the lovely things we think about them.  We surprise our loved one with a special treat.  We give our partner a back rub at the end of a long day.  We listen - to stories, to rants, to the unsaid words in the silence.  

But, what if you don't have someone in your life to love you in those unique ways that you love to be loved?  

Well, I propose that you Be Your Own Boyfriend.  Or Girlfriend.  Or Best Friend.  The title is not important.  Be the person you need.  This is about self-care.   This is about loving yourself in the ways you love to be loved.  There's no need to go without or to wait until someone comes along who can love you in those ways.  Love can be a DIY project.  

What follows are some of the ways that I have learned to be my own boyfriend, my own loved one.  These are, then, the unique ways that I love to be loved and they may not be yours, but perhaps these ideas will spark you to consider that question - How do I love to be loved? - and then put into action some simple ways to show yourself some of that love.  (Oh hey, future boyfriend!  I sent you the link to this post and strongly implied that it would be in your best interest to read it, didn't I?  Yeah, sounds like something I'd do.  Listen up.)

• Buy yourself flowers. Once a month-ish, I buy myself a bouquet of flowers from the farmers market, or scavenge for them in the countryside. For me, flowers are one of the cheapest sources of joy.
  

• Set your phone to send you sweet-nothings throughout the day. I'm not ashamed to tell you that I wake up every morning to a message on my phone that reads, "Good morning, beautiful." It's surprisingly heartwarming. As soon as there's an app that will make me breakfast, I think my iPhone and I will make it official. (Side note: I've also set my phone to buzz and pop up the message "Take your meds, lady!" at 8 am everyday. Whenever my kids hear that alarm go off, they shout at me "Take your meds, lady!" as a sort of conditioned response. It's one of my favourite things.)
  

• Run yourself a bath. Get out the fancy bubbles and bath oils. Pour yourself a glass of wine. Put on your favourite tunes or set up your iPad in some sort of waterproof cocoon so you can watch Friday Night Lights (guys, I know I'm late to this party, but OMG so good). Or screw all that and just splash around to your heart's content. I mean, it's you that's going to have to clean it up, remember, but what better way to clean the bathroom floor?
  

• Sit with yourself - not simply by yourself but with yourself - and listen for the words unsaid, as you would with a dear friend. Greet those words with kindness and an open heart.
  

• Celebrate your birthday. Don't wait on someone to plan a party or sing the song. Sing it yourself. Buy yourself cake. You'll be guaranteed to get the kind you want. If you can, spend the day doing something you really love.
  

• Cook your favourite meal, just for you. Take the time to pick out the right ingredients and to prepare the meal slowly and with love. If you are so inclined, light a candle and use fancy plates and sit at an actual table that is not a coffee table or a couch cushion. Or take yourself out for dinner. Trust me, you can do that. It may feel uncomfortable sitting at a table for one but in all honesty, nobody cares and listen to this: you don't have to share your dessert with anyone.
  

• Netflix and chill. By yourself. You heard me. Either literally or metaphorically. (Oh jeepers, now I'm going to have to explain this to my mother. Sex, ma, it means sex.)
  

• Rant out loud to yourself (perhaps in the privacy of your own home?) or get it out on paper. Is it as satisfying as ranting to someone else who will nod and mm-hmm and give you all the visual cues that they believe you are totally justified in your ranting? No, frankly it's not. But it still feels good.
  

• Get a massage. For my part, I recently bought a gym membership and the level of membership I purchased includes the use of hydromassage beds. When signing up for the membership, I thought I'd just give the massage thing a whirl but I didn't expect much. I assumed I'd decide I could do without. But then I tried one and HERE HAVE ALL MY MONEY. My kingdom for a hydromassage. Seven minutes of heaven that I really don't think a boyfriend could replicate. If you're keeping track, the robots are winning.
  

• Check in with yourself about how you're feeling. Loved ones, boyfriends, girlfriends...they check in to see if you're comfortable, if you're happy, if you're feeling safe. Are you warm enough? Are you having a good time? Do you want something to eat? Do you like where you are - this restaurant, this neighbourhood, this career, this life? Make a point of checking in with yourself and asking those questions.

These are just a few ideas and, as I said, they are my own and they may not float your particular boat.  The point is to consider how you can meet your needs instead of waiting for others to meet them for you.  This is about empowering yourself to create the love you want and the life you want instead of relying on destiny or luck to bring you what your heart desires.

But you know what?  I believe if you do this, if you learn how to show yourself the love you need, if/when someone does come around who wants to show you some love too, you'll know what you want, you'll know what your favourite kind of love feels like, and they'll have a shining example of how to love you in just the right way.  I believe this Dr. Phil-ism to be true: You teach people how to treat you. 

Show 'em how it's done. 

Jump for Joy: Write a "Ta Da!" List

You're not the boss of me.

You might think that, as a writer, I'd be naturally inclined toward participating in a daily journalling practice and that, without effort, I'd be able to stick to a regular routine, greeting any opportunity to write with abundant enthusiasm!  The truth is that I'm a haphazard, inconsistent journaller, at best.  I'll get in a good groove of writing every night for weeks on end and then suddenly I'll fall off the cliff of responsibilities, descending into the abyss of tasks, emerging many, many weeks later with only a foggy memory of this little book here.  So although I've kept diaries and journals for most of my life, it is not uncommon for me to start entries with "The last three months of my life have been busy.  To recap..."

I've been trying, TRYING, to get back into the habit because I have found that when I stick to it, the practice of taking a few minutes every evening to write about what's going on (AND ALL THE FEELINGS) has an immensely positive impact on my life.  My journal becomes a place to let things out - the good, the bad and the ugly - that I otherwise tend to keep in, and the practice of writing about how I feel about things, and the choices I'm considering making in my life along with their pros and cons, helps me to process what's going on inside my often far-too-busy brain.  When I write in my journal before bed, I sleep better, and wake up with a healthier, more positive outlook on my life and any challenges I'm facing.

When I manage to write in my journal, I make it a point to end my entries with a list of three things I'm grateful for that day.  This is not a revolutionary idea, by any means, and it is backed by scientific research that strongly supports "an association between gratitude and an individual’s well-being."  In my experience, I've found that this exercise alone allows me to gain some perspective and set aside my troubles, at least for the moment.

Recently, though, I've added another exercise to my journalling routine, an exercise that I've come to think of as writing my "Ta Da!" List.  Following my list of the three things I'm grateful for, I write a list of three things I did well that day (Get it?  "I did this!  Ta Da!"  Corny? Yes.  Clever?  If you say so).  My far-too-busy brain is exceptional at drafting long To Do lists but not so great at celebrating the things I actually do and this exercise helps me to do just that.  These accomplishments don't have to be of the climbed-Kilimanjaro variety.  They can be simple, simple things and in fact, I have found that acknowledging the seemingly simplest of my day's accomplishments is the fastest route to a sense of satisfaction and success.

Some examples from my journal of the things I did well: 

• "I washed my face"

• "Laughed and had fun with the girls"

• "Ate healthy things"

• "Stayed calm with my daughter when she was trying my patience"

• "Didn't beat myself up"

• "Went to the park even though I was tired"

• "(Mostly) had a positive attitude!" TA DA! You're welcome, family!

Several years ago, I came across what I consider to be one of my favourite things on the Internet.  In a forum about "things you like to tell or remind yourself about when you have 'woe is me' moments to steer yourself out of self-pity/moments of weakness and back into awesomeness", contributor Zozo offers this gem:

"I start going down a list of my accomplishments. If my mood is particularly crappy, I'll do a lot of "oh, well, that doesn't really count," but I can eventually wear myself down by sheer volume, even if it means counting "remembered to buy cat food" and "emptied the dishwasher" as accomplishments. 'Cause you know what? I emptied the fuck out of that dishwasher."

I heart this 4eva.

This is what the "Ta Da!" List is all about.  It's about emphatically celebrating your successes, no matter how insignificant they may seem, because the thing is they are NOT insignificant.  These successes are important because, on the whole, our days are not made up of Kilimanjaro moments.  They are made up of washing our face, and staying calm with trying toddlers, and emptying the dishwasher moments.

So go ahead and give yourself the credit you're due, and consider making it a daily practice to do so, whether in writing or not.  

What have you accomplished today? 

You gave the dog his medication.  TA DA!

You didn't eat the entire bag of chips.  TA DA!

You emptied the fuck out of the dishwasher. 

TA fucking DA! 

Jump for Joy is a series on JTTG about small, simple ways to boost the joy in your life.  

Leap Year

I'm pretty straight-laced.  A rule follower.  A good girl.  If you were to ask around about me, I imagine that you would hear that I'm pretty quiet and by the book and I tend to stay in line.  

I generally do what is expected of me.  Except for when I don't.   

I'm pretty content being the good girl most of the time, but I have a strong-willed, rebellious side that likes to shake things up.  I've always, even at my most straight-laced, had the capacity to say Yes to things that scare me, to listen to my gut and go against the grain, if need be, to take leaps of faith.  It's one of the things I like best about myself. 

This is the side of me that ran for student council in grade 9, which required that I stand up in front of the entire grade 9 class and risk social suicide, in the armour of my Northern Reflections t-shirt, promises of commitment and change on my Bonne Bell-glossed lips.  I lost.  I was mildly annoyed to have received fewer votes than the girl whose speech amounted to "Hey, what's up, guys?" but psssshh.  Whatever.  I had stood up there.  Don't you know you're supposed to keep your head down?

This is the side of me that takes chances on connections and relationships that, from the outside looking in, seem absolutely crazy-town.  It's the side of me that got married when I was 20.  Don't you know that you're supposed to finish school and build your career and date for years before you get married? Don't you know you're supposed to follow the script?

This is the side of me that doesn't know how to make it to point B but gets in the car and drives anyway and assumes I'll be able to figure it out along the way.   This is the side of me that trusts I am capable and that, if nothing else, I'll at least learn something in the process.  

Don't you know you might get lost?  Don't you know you might end up right back where you started?  

This is the side of me that, a year ago, chose to leave a job, with a pension and benefits and at least a semblance of security, to be an unemployed single mother.  At least, that's one way of looking at it.  Another version of that story is that a year ago, I chose to leave a job that took away more than it gave to focus on what matters most to me.   

It was one of the best decisions of my life. 

I left my job to focus on three things: my daughters, my writing and my health.   

I was home with my kids last summer.  Some of the time anyway.  The rest of the time, we were off having adventures.  Exploring museums, building sandcastles, wandering the farmers market, and testing out the city's playgrounds, before returning back home to living room sleepovers and library book readathons and quiet cuddles in the big bed.  I have, for this past year, met my kids off the school bus every day at 4:00, greeted most often by "I'm hungry" rather than "Hi Mama", mind you, but they're there and I'm there with them.  This year of focused family time has immeasurably strengthened the bond that I share with my girls and I wouldn't take back a second of it.

I'm a writer.  I can say that now with confidence.  A year ago, I would have said that I wanted to be a writer, and I'd downplay my efforts.  Over the course of this past year, I completed my first picture book manuscript and sent it off to publishers, and as soon as it was in the mail, I got started on the next.  I'm currently working on two manuscripts and I have generated dozens of other ideas that are waiting in the wings.  Since leaving my job, I've written over 20 essays for this website, writing that I'm very proud of.  And my writing has become better, my instincts more sharply refined.  I used to be afraid to write, hesitant to use up an idea in case another one wasn't forthcoming, and unwilling to cut or change anything too much lest I lose my way.  Now, I slash and banish my precious words like a heartless dictator, and I use the good china - pulling every idea out of the cupboard - knowing, trusting, that the cupboard will never be bare.  

I wrote last year about my rheumatoid arthritis, about wanting to use my able body while I have it, in case the day when I no longer can comes sooner than expected.  In this past year, I've only had one major flare-up (and that was because I had foolishly taken my medication two days late).  This is a vast improvement from the previous year.  Turns out, unemployment has some benefits of its own.  And I have put my healthy body to use playing with the kids and hiking and traveling to amazing places.  I'm not, as yet, as strong and toned and healthy as I would like to be but I am getting there. 

The truth though is that when I was talking about wanting to take time off to care for my health, I wasn't really referring to a desire to do more aerobics classes and squats.  The truth is that a year ago, I knew that if I didn't take some time off and get some help, I would likely kill myself in the next month or two.

That's a hard thing to read and, believe me, a hard thing to write.  But that's the truth.  When I wrote about "a feeling that whispered quietly at first but recently it has been singing in every cell in my body", I was writing about the growing feeling that I was edging closer to the brink, and that my decision was really one between life and death.  (The inevitable question comes: "Why didn't you take a medical leave?"  Let's just say that as open as I am about my depression, the stigma against mental illness is powerful and that time, it won.)

Since leaving my job, I've been asked many times if I have any regrets.  Not a single one.  Not for a moment.  Because I'm here where I maybe wouldn't have been.  And, while I still have a long way to go and my depression still dogs me - as I'm sure it will the rest of my life - I'm a stronger, happier person than I have ever been.

Despite the many uncertainties I still face, I've never regretted my decision to leave my job.  I've never regretted any of my leaps of faith.  Because with each leap, I was following my intuition and my heart, and each leap brought me closer to my true self and the life I want. Going with your gut and taking a leap:  it's setting out without a map but with the world before you, trusting that your inner compass will guide you in the right direction.   

Don't you know you might get lost?  Don't you know you might end up right back where you started? 

Yes, I know that.  So what?

Searching for Spring

In my part of the world, winter can be a beast.  It tends to arrive fierce and furious some time around November (sometimes earlier) and doesn't let up until...well, it's anyone's guess, really.  There's a saying that March is "in like a lion, out like a lamb" but these past few years it has been more like "in like a lion, ooh yay it's a lamb, nope sorry, out like an even angrier lion, suckers!"  Case in point: last week, the kids were outside in shorts and t-shirts.  Yesterday, it snowed.  Our front porch is home to both the snow shovel and the scooters, at the moment, prepared as we are for all possibilities.

Many people find winter a challenge.  The shovelling, the scraping, the icy roads, the snowpants-and-mitts-and-scarves-and-hats-and-coats-and-losing-of-one's-mind, the freezing off of faces and exposed limbs - it's a little much.  And for those who have depression or are otherwise facing a trying time in their lives, the darkness and the somewhat forced isolation, as we settle in for our yearly hibernation, can be particularly difficult.  We pray for warm weather.  We beg for it.  We count down the days and search for signs of spring.  Anything.  Any sign at all to keep us going.

A funny thing happens in this part of the world as March comes along and we near the date of the "official start of spring" (a laughable concept, of course - as if Mother Nature checks the calendar! - but sometimes it's the only bit of hope we can cling to).  We search for signs of spring, and divide into camps.  

I've heard tell of those who mourn the loss of the bitter winds and the short days, real "winter lovers" which seems to me to be an oxymoron.  I try not to associate with such people myself because WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT but apparently they exist.  And they're not all skiers and snowboarders and other winter sport nut bars. It seems some people just like winter (I blame the parents).  And I guess as the days grow longer and the beautiful warm sunshine reappears they shriek and shield their eyes and melt with the frost.  I don't really know.  

And then there are those who will take any little bit of hope they can get their hands on.  "It's a balmy -15C, guys!  My skin didn't immediately go numb with frostbite!  Let's head to the beach!"  These are the people dodging sleet in their sneakers and Bermuda shorts.  You've seen them.  They are another brand of nut bar but you've got to hand it to them: they are working with what they've got and making the best of it.  

A slightly more reasonable version of these optimistic freaks are those who quite simply REACH THEIR LIMIT.  At a certain point, despite the forecast, they decide that enough is enough and they banish their winter gear to the darkest recesses of their closets where they will remain untouched, dammit, for at least seven months no matter what happens because YOU WILL NOT CONTROL ME, WEATHER!  They know the risk they're taking because as soon as they have taken their bold stand and traded their down coats for jean jackets OF COURSE Jack Frost will return.  And be a total dick.  But they just can't take one more minute.  

In the final camp are those who remain cocooned in their crocheted infinity scarves long after winter's last dying breath.  It's full-on flip-flop season and they're layered up and have brought along a fleece pullover "just in case".  Because you never know.  That's how winter gets you.  You think it's all done and then BOOM.  July.  Snowstorm.  You'll be wishing you packed your parka, then!  

It seems to me that these attitudes reflect how we feel about hope.

For some, there's either no need for hope - they revel in the darkness - or hope is simply absent.  There's no point in wishing for spring, because it feels as though spring will never come.  There's no such thing as better days ahead.

For others, hope is abundant and reasons to keep going are easily found.  The buds on the trees.  The smile of a passing stranger.  They're the tulip fighting its way through the soil on the promise of that one speck of light above.

Others take matters into their own hands.  They don't wait for signs of spring.  They decide that they will live as if it is spring, creating hope as they go, despite the flurries in the forecast.  

And then there are those who let the fear and darkness block out the blinding light.  Sunshine and opportunity can abound and they worry that at any moment it will all be lost.  They remain frozen in their vigilance.

There are some who live their lives forever camped in one of these places but I think for most of us, we move between them.  This is certainly the case for me, and I think that all of these perspectives can be right, at least for a time.  It is natural to feel hopeless sometimes.  It is okay to be in that darkness.  And it makes sense to be scared.  Do freak July snowstorms happen?  They sure do.  But I'd like to suggest that the supplies you need are close at hand and you've been through this before.  You can trust that you will dig your way out with the shovels of tenacity and loving support and your own strength.  You can let your guard down because this arsenal remains at the ready whenever you need it.

I've been searching for spring these past few months and for my part, today I'm going to put the snow shovel away.  Enough is enough.  I know that means I'm courting disaster.  But I have faith that I'll make it through if it comes.   

Today, I will put away the fears that have held me frozen.

Today, I will banish the doubts that hold me back.  

Today, I will shed the layers that no longer keep me safe but, rather, block me from feeling the sun. 

I will be the tulip.  

I see the light.