At least not for me.
Come the close of Christmas Day, I start yearning for Spring. Every year, as December arrives and hurtles toward holiday hurrah, I start clamoring for sunny days. My soul longs for Resurrection. My spirit scans for lake views. My body begs for the freedom of a bikini. I think my neural pathways find their way to joy more easily when the middle of March comes around. By April, I find myself acquainted with hope. By May, I believe in a reality of abundant life. But, until then? I struggle. And ache for something more. Something different. And this week — the one immediately following the emotional high of Christmas — is the hardest to plod through …
But, I’m walking … little steps today toward the March … April … May of tomorrow.