Looking Up in Hope

My son took this photo on Friday when we went for a walk in the woods. We’re definitely seeing more sunlight and feeling its effects. Those birdsongs of spring warm the soul just as much as that burning orb warms our bodies and minds.

It all inspires hope.

Hope, like this photo, speaks of looking up. Up, or perhaps the proper word choice is “out”. Without hope, we close ourselves off and protect whatever we feel is on our inside. We exist. I’ve felt a lot of that in recent months. I actually didn’t even realize how closed-off I’d become until a door opened. A door I’d given up on and had to be shown was there.

We exist in any number of permutations of our selves over time. Every decade of life can bring a host of variables that alter the how’s, where’s, why’s, what’s, and who’s of our daily living. Those variables fuel the forge that melts us into what we are. The forge never quits until our final quenching.

Time alters us.

It can force us to shut parts of our selves off as we seek to survive. Those abandoned parts shrivel and rot like apples left on a tree as winter hits. We push them even farther away as we seek pleasure in the things we do have in our lives. We don't want reminders.

If we’re lucky, we can still have a good life. It’s just different than what we had imagined.

What happens if a time comes when that old place of wonder and delight is again at our doorstep? Can we see the opportunity? Do we risk opening that door? Can we walk into that realm again, but as the person were are today? We may need help to see the promise of potential that’s maybe- just maybe- within our reach. If we can accept that there's a future we can help mold.

We need help to look up. To hope.

That’s where I am right now. I know the person I was. I know I’ve gained a ton of perspective and experiences over the years but I’m still trying out this idea of looking up. It’s tempting, but I’m also afraid. I'm tiny. I wonder if I should just keep my head down and leave it all to someone else. I worry I’ll just take an opportunity away from someone else if I step forward.

But the birds are singing. The sun is warming. The sky is calling.

Hope.

Awaiting Our Spring Thaw

It’s January 31!

In the early spring of cold regions, along the shores of lakes and rivers big and small, we can expect to see the ice melt and finally whither away as the days warm. Sometimes, these events are slow, and one barely notices as still, dull grays and whites morph back to dancing ripples and waves. Other years, great chunks and sheets of ice heave and buck into great piles that stack up on the shore. In those years, the body of water looks more like oatmeal than liquid at times.

We go from a seemingly stagnant state to a far more active one as we transition from winter to spring.

I can relate. I wonder if you can, as well?

Sometimes, our lives feel frozen.

I haven’t written about diabetes lately. I have an entire book sitting on my desk on the very subject. I triumphantly finished that first draft in September, and while I have been editing it on and off, it’s been slow. It has always been my intention to open it up to artists with diabetes for illustrating it, and finding a strong venue to publish it, but I have not actively pursued that, either. (If you know of anyone, or would like to get involved with this project, please message me!)

Changes to my healthcare have been frozen, as well. I started to look into a continuous glucose monitoring (CGM) device in the middle of last year. The layers of bureaucracy, procedural stumbles and ever-present long-range scheduling of appointments left me without final decisions and a depressed spirit as a new calendar (and insurance) year loomed. I admit it: I gave up. For now. When another large and uncalculated for expense looms in your family’s budget (this one’s over $2,600 just for the initial device), it’s easier to stick with the status quo.

Fortunately, nothing stays the same forever. If we’re locked and frozen today, tomorrow we may get to experience the warm breath of a springtime melt.

Sometimes, our transitions are smooth. Other times, they heave and chunk first.

I have a list of things I should do that I feel I can actually start to attack now. I’ve run into walls as I’ve explored leads. I’ve found new contacts. I’ve received encouragements as well as reality checks. Transition- melting and morphing- can be an extremely agitating time, can’t it? 

I may not have achieved my initial goal of a CGM, but my own care of my health has become better once again. Perhaps the very act of attempting is what was important in this case. Have you ever found an unexpected good or growth from a disappointment? That’s growth mindset (a great video there, by Sprouts, by the way. Check it out!)

Always, we deserve to hope for that melt.

Today, I stumbled across an African proverb on Twitter posted by Afreeque:

“Le soleil n'ignore pas un village parce qu’il est petit.”

The sun doesn’t ignore a village because it’s small.

I love this message. Even if you aren’t the smartest, wealthiest or most beautiful, you can expect to feel the sun’s life-giving warmth. The implication is, we all deserve it. There’s 7 billion of us on this one rock, under this one sun. We come in all shapes, sizes, colors, medical states, economic conditions, ethnicities, sexualities and religious traditions. We all stumble. Freeze. We all can try again. Melt.

Best wishes to you in the season you find yourself in today.