“The present moment is the only moment available to us, it is the door to all moments.” - Thich Nhat Hanh

It’s officially spring. The birds wake each day chirping loudly. The sky dips between glorious sunshine and sprinkles of rain, the temperature shifts on a whim. The ebb and flow of winter’s chill transitions to summer sunshine - we’re full on in the mix of it all: the present, the here and now. This elusive space, the one so many of us would like to be able to stay in, often evades us. 

“We need joy as we need air. We need love as we need water. We need each other as we need the earth we share.” - Maya Angelou 

“Hope is the boldest act of imagination I know” - Edith Eger

As a new month unfolds, we get the chance to begin again. 

It’s September. While it may be the 9th month of the year, for many, this time of year holds significant meaning. In the northern hemisphere, it’s the closing weeks of summer and the month of the autumnal equinox, the last days of regular baseball season and the opening ones of American football games. It’s a time when pumpkin spice and apple picking show up on social media timelines, yet we hold fast our flip flop days, and we’re full steam ahead into school’s first term of a new year. 

“Life is amazing. And then it's awful. And then it's amazing again. And in between the amazing and awful it's ordinary and mundane and routine. Breathe in the amazing, hold on through the awful, and relax and exhale during the ordinary. That's just living heartbreaking, soul-healing, amazing, awful, ordinary life. And it's breathtakingly beautiful.” ~ L.R. Knost

It’s that time of year again. In the northern hemisphere, we’re in the sprung part of spring and students across the board can see the end in sight. University students are on their home stretch to finals, educators who’ve taught forever are preparing their retirement parties, and the ‘what will I do after graduation’ decision is upon us. 

“Stay the course. When thwarted try again: harder: smarter. Persevere relentlessly.” - John Wooden

I went to university in Boston. Driving from New York meant going over at least one giant bridge. Each time I hit that bridge, I’d notice something shift. My fingers clenched, my shoulders tightened, I hugged the divider, and focused hard on following those in front of me in order to make it to the other side. A few minutes after crossing, the color returned to my fingers and my whole body exhaled. Regardless of the season, state of the roads, or precipitation from the sky, crossing that bridge was often the most nerve-wracking part of that drive. 

A new month, a new year, a new chance to write your story. 

How do you greet the new year?