The promises of spring on the Jagged Edge of America wake me up earlier than ever. My dad always told me that I should plan something short-term and long-term that I looked forward to doing. I have trouble focusing on the long term, so I select things, events, or milestones only three or four months away. Maine’s seasonal changes are often on my list.
I don’t remember his exact words, but I know that dad’s advice made sense. Life is best if you have a darn good reason to get up in the morning. Looking far down the road helps you walk that road in a straight line. That’s the lesson he wanted to instill in me.
I could spout off a satchel full of reasons, but you have your own. I get up for the pure pleasure of merely being alive for another day. Yes, it’s true. That’s why I get up so early. I want to ensure that I get in on the ground floor if something big happens, even if it interrupts the coffee.
You see, I have heard from enough people sharing their reasons for feeling like they have a new lease on life—the diagnosis of a severe illness and the subsequent healing, the survival of a serious car crash, or the loss of a loved one. All the survivors write a post, share a story, or in some other way reiterate that they now value life so much more. We all sit around and nod, feeling what they are feeling. But we forget all that valuable advice soon after. Then we go on living precisely the same way.
Those stories have had a profound influence on me. I don’t want what they are having, but I want to appreciate what I’ve got right now. And yes, there have been many times that it wasn’t much. Having something to look forward to, even a seasonal change, has been my pot of gold.
Spring looked out from behind the north wind this past week. Several forty-degree days have buoyed my spirits. I needed it after a week of shoveling three to four times a day. No, that’s not an understatement.
The Significant One stopped by the house for a very short visit. She had to cut it a day short when she slipped away to try to beat the next Nor’easter headed this way; I told her again about that time—years ago—that we were raking up branches in the camp yard on March fourteenth.
By looking back, I was looking forward to something. By remembering, I was projecting hope. I can promise you there will be no raking on March fourteenth. Maybe next year? I’ll look forward to that.
It’ll help me walk that straight line. It’ll be a place of focus.
What do you look forward to?
From the Jagged Edge, I remain,
TC
Thank you so much to all who have supported this blog, my webpage, my books, my Facebook posts, or whatever. Thanks to those who have joined in the support at BuyMeACoffee, too. Your friendly emails, notes, and thoughtful gifts mean so much. Laura W., thank you for the vast collection of new spices. I’m becoming a better cook.
Be well.
Tim Cotton