A new month, a fresh start, an opportunity to wipe the slate clean, and consider the limitless possibilities ahead of us as we celebrate the arrival of a brand-new baby boy in the family. Spring is here. Despite the morning’s 30-degree temperatures, the prognosticators assure us we will hit 70-degrees for the weekend. It’s time to finish old business, start postponed projects, and dream audacious dreams about the future we wish to see.
No matter the challenges and the obstacles blocking my way, I maintain the item at the top of my list as a non-negotiable. Yesterday I wrote 606 words.
The final bag whizzed past Keagan’s left thigh and landed with a thump on the cracked cement driveway. Just clothes, nothing breakable. The heavy wood door behind her slammed shut, and the deadbolt clunked into place.
“Don’t let the door hit you in the ass.” The words, muffled by the heavy wooden door, lost their bite. Hurled arrows aimed at weakening her resolve came far too late to have their desired effect.
One by one, each downstairs light flicked off, and Keagan heard heavy footsteps. They tread on the worn pink cabbage rose carpet covering the narrow staircase. She felt every nick in the white-painted banister the way her shoulder slammed into the wall as she turned on the tiny landing and the smooth brass doorknob that only stayed latched when you jiggled it.
They are in the past now.
She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, descended the front porch steps as if she were already someone, and released the screen door. It creaked, echoing the same protest she had heard a million times before it slammed and bounced in the warped jamb. The familiar sound accompanied so many memories. Heated words, accusations, and ultimatums ended punctuated with its creak and bang.
Hours later, a softer, more tentative squeak and thud heralded a barrage of pleading lies, false promises, and bankrupt vows. Belief and hope melted into agony and desperation, and a swirling eddy of dark desolation threatened to consume her. Despite her every attempt, no matter how hard she tried, nothing was ever right. And the repeating cycle left her numb, uncaring, suffocating.
None of it matters now.
Drowning people fight for each precious, life-sustaining breath. Life or death confronted her. She faced her moment of truth and declared war. Small, secret, defiant warfare, with tiny victories, gave her courage to conceive a starting point that began with goodbye. “You’ll never make it alone. Go ahead, throw your life away. You’ll come crawling back. You’re nothing without me.”
Keep moving.
She stepped outside the warm pool of light cast by the glaring, naked bulb protecting the timid from the dangerous night terrors. There was no hesitation when she took the last stride into the unknown. Her eyes adjusted to an alternate reality, and she found herself standing under a canopy of blazing stars. They twinkled, sang, and beckoned with pledges of wonders greater than anything she imagined.
In the aftermath, a sparkling soul opened fledgling wings. Freedom filled her lungs, and she flew.
I’m not an April Fool’s Day fan. I’ve always considered it a bit cruel to play pranks on a person for the amusement of others. A harmless word twist or ingenious subterfuge can make me smile, but those are rare. The best example of a clever April Fool trickery was perpetrated in 1987 in Norway. They posted an announcement saying the government would distribute 10,000 liters of wine confiscated from smugglers. Hundreds of Norwegians turned up carrying empty bottles and buckets. I’m sure I would have been standing in that line, and I can imagine my extreme disappointment when I learned the entire report was a hoax.
It’s not nice to promise free wine and then not deliver. Was there a joke? If so, I missed it. ‘Tis a good thing I have a ready supply in my stocked cellar for such occasions. I think I will serve dinner with a suburb chianti. An enjoyable meal with friends, stimulating conversations, witty banter, and shared laughter is a much better way to mark the first full month of spring.
Do you enjoy pranks, or should I pass you a glass of wine?
I am biting the bullet, taking the plunge, seizing the opportunity, and crossing the Rubicon, ready to start an April that is full of promise. Late. It is my norm to wait until the last minute to commit. Once committed, I will move heaven and earth to finish what I started. Stay tuned because April is going to be an A-to-Z extravaganza.
These past months, I have been thinking about beginnings and endings. What circumstances can transform an end into the start of something new and wondrous? When does an opening conclude? And how do you know you have arrived at the beginning of the end? What happens when you arrive at the final ending?
Are you intrigued?
The story is just beginning, and I hope you will follow along until the end.
I’m a scheduler, a planner, I live and die by the agenda, and I relish crossing off the items on my To-Do List. Creating my battle plan, devising tactics for reaching my goals, and knowing what to expect given various scenarios keep me sane. Knowing where I’m going keeps my anxiety monster resting in his cage and helps me manage my stress levels. My plans are never perfect. They are riddled with crossed-off appointments, scratched out and rewritten chores, inserted spur-of-the-moment activities, and scribbled notes for when my priorities change.
People question why I bother when everything is subject to modification, adjustments, or deletion at any point during my day. I persevere because it is my drill practice, my training session, and my dress rehearsal. I conceive my strategies, tactics, and plotting with a single purpose—to win the day, moved toward my goal, and reach my objective. Long-term destinations are elusive when you wander along pretty but aimless paths. Fording rivers is much more difficult when you attempt the crossing in the middle of the rapids during flood season, rather than choosing a better season and an alternate location.
I don’t have a crystal ball and can’t predict the challenges my day will throw at me. Making plans does not ensure I won’t encounter obstacles, but it helps me to anticipate, adapt and devise solutions on the fly. It also helps me to say no to some fun diversions. While I might enjoy them, I would also regret indulging in them if it meant I missed taking part in a once-in-a-lifetime event. That is reason enough to continue.
It was bound to happen, eventually. Pushing, pulling, exercising a sheer force of will, digging deep, and not accepting excuses can carry you far. Until the day everything falls apart. Despite your best efforts, your world implodes, and you discover band-aids, chewing gum, and baling wire are not the cure-all everyone says they are. Contrary to popular opinion, you can’t always do more with less, productivity does not increase proportionally to the number of hours worked, and unreasonable expectations are not imaginary beasts.
Thankfully, when I state we cannot complete a project within the expected time frame, the conversation stops, and people listen. Someone must be the voice of reason. When the words emanate from the perpetual optimist and the “we-can-do-it-team” cheerleader, heads descend from the clouds, and deadlines get adjusted. I see relief in my team’s eyes as they step back from the edge. Today, nobody will break.
No matter the challenges and the obstacles blocking my way, I maintain the item at the top of my list as a non-negotiable. Yesterday I wrote 0 words.
Mondays present a formidable challenge, but Wednesdays hold the honor for the longest slog of the week. You may call it Hump Day, but for me, it is Work Until You Drop Day. Ok, that title isn’t very succinct, and it certainly isn’t clever. What do you expect from an over-worked, stressed-out brain? Creativity is in short supply on Wednesday. The routine is rigorous and not for the untrained. I hit my desk early, fire up the laptop, strategically position the coffee pot close to my trusty cup, and dive into my day.
I hammer away at spreadsheets, import data, manipulate formulas, sort, analyze and summarize, tie it with a pretty bow, and send it to the project’s distribution list. Lunchtime passes without a break, daylight dims, my colleagues sign off for the day, and I continue to fill in missing pieces. The last task of the day is sending messages for information, confirmations, and clarifications needed to complete the segment and stay on target. It is past my normal bedtime when I decide I am too tired to make even one more decision. My bed calls, and I answer.
No matter the challenges and the obstacles blocking my way, I maintain the item at the top of my list as a non-negotiable. Yesterday I wrote 297 (countable) words.
Jo Hawk 