As I sit on Will’s balcony with a Pages document open, and Finley curled up on the chair beside me enjoying the soft morning light, the past two months linger in my thoughts. Finals had rushed in like an angry bull with intentions of piercing its target, and I, by a miracle, had grabbed the bull by the horns through my dodging and flailing, and completed my first year of university alive. I had survived a night sitting in the passenger seat of Will’s car, watching and commenting as young drivers in modified cars raced along the highway to a big annual car event. My body had ached the afternoon Will, and I had found ourselves knee-deep in snow at the top of a mountain ridge, with the four o’clock sun warning us of night’s approach and still a long way to the mountain peak, my shoes squished away.
We never reached the peak that day, but then again, lectures and exams had been over for a while, and I had yet to sit and work on my novels I’d promised myself. Like that hike up the slippery slopes, sitting to organise my life and write a book appeared impossible with the challenges in its course. More than often, I grew afraid of the potential failure ahead, before attempting to start. But, as the soreness became noticeable in my toes, legs and back, and I was sure we’d end up on the ridge alone at night, the forest cover broke to an open sky and flat clearing. I’d never been more relieved or happier than at that moment.
Now, none of my writing is anywhere near finished, after all, I sit here trying to manifest my protagonist’s and her companion’s dialogue on to the page, but, I’ve a better understanding of how I need to handle the journey ahead. There’s something about spring that sparks the need for a fresh start. Maybe it’s the fragrance of lilacs floating on the gentle breeze, or the two disgruntled blue jays arguing with a defensive squirrel over a nest as a cardinal observes nearby. Or perhaps it’s the way the sun peeks out from behind winter’s shroud and warms our skin like our mother’s kisses. Mine came as a wet and icy hike. But, whatever it might be, we’re programmed to feel this upstart, this movement towards change this time of the year—something the “New year, new me” mantra fails to carry out every January.
So, out goes the harsh winter winds that had me dreading leaving my warm bed for a lecture downtown at the university, and in comes the silent sunrises on the porch with a hot cup of coffee, and the hunger for the rough and wild journey from here on out. Welcome to a new beginning.
