There’s a certain sort of vigor about spring, isn’t there? The way the mild air gently grazes past the dead of winter and takes with it any semblance of those frostbitten, doldrum days. The way it gracefully ushers in new life and awakens inspiration. The way it always seems to whisper,
And I fall for it, that darn springtime fervor, I fall for it madly. It grapples for my heart with fierce ardor, always arriving unannounced, deep in the midst of the humdrum of my day.
And it was in that deep humdrum-y sort of a day that it found me this year. Dutifully sitting at my desk, I suddenly became overly concerned with European vacations (of which, mind you, I have absolutely no business with being concerned about). But my heart did not rest, and my soul yearned for The Tiber, and and I knew then that I was in. I was in deep.
So, I sat with it. I relished in it. I drank it in while my heart pulled me ever deeper into that springtime allure. And I waited for what I knew was inevitable…
That onslaught of inspiration — the sudden urge to do it all, see it all, conquer it all (does spring do this to anyone else, or am I crazy?). And while my stuck up, “let’s be reasonable, here,” brain tried to contend with my wistful, “let’s go live,” heart, the battle, I’m afraid, had already been won. Because it’s springtime after all, and who can resist a little adventure? And why the heck not, anyway? What is it that keeps us from fully living?
Fear, I suppose — that dastardly thing. Because just as my heart started to swoon at all of those springtime prospects — all of those “maybe later” tasks that have perpetually gone unfulfilled — fear took hold. And it happened like it always does. Because winter always comes, even in the midst of spring.
So, dear friends, let us live. Let us march forward with life in our bones and praise on our lips. And when January seeks to entrap our springtime inspiration, may we fearlessly respond with a life worth living.