Once a winter, every winter, I struggle to survive. This is not to say that I fall into depression, as I have explored every corner of seasonal depression, and I can’t say that that’s me.
It’s that I quite literally fall dormant with the plants, upon the homecoming of colder weather. I refuse to feel desolate, as I know all things need rest to grow, and I know that the sun and it’s warmth will return to me; as will I, return to me.
I haven’t been much of a writer as of late, and I ignorantly shout the excuse that it’s damn near impossible to tap into a deep pool of emotion when the deepest emotion I feel everyday is the furthest thing from turmoil.
I spent most of last year looking for a career, and after being let down by so many prospects, I finally began to get shockingly motivated about starting my own business. Starting my own business, and working for myself, is something I’ve been talking about since I was 22. It was sort of one of those things that I know will eventually happen, I just wasn’t sure how, or when. The book I’ve been talking about writing since I was 17. I know it will happen, I just wasn’t sure how- or when.
It is time. It is time for all the things I know I’ll do, but have never set a time limit on. Dreams don’t work unless you do, or whatever they say. It is time to get real.
Winter is coming to an end, and spring is right around the corner. The sun will be here soon to yank all from it’s roots and grow it tall with it’s hoarded rainfall. We’re coming up on the season of new growth. The real New Year.
Make a wish.
Wild Little Hare 