Spring Redemption

If you have never experienced the transition from winter into spring in a place whose climate knows the extremes of the solstices, do your soul a favour and move somewhere – anywhere – where you can do so. It is not enough to just be in a place in the spring, to witness the rebirth of nature; you must know the depth of cold, barren branches, the wonder of early morning hoarfrost, and the brightness and inaccessible warmth of sunlight when the ground is frozen solid and the snow crunches beneath your feet. Only then can you understand the glory of 10 degrees Celsius, of budbreak in the vineyards, of baby maple leaves and open windows, of leaving your jacket behind and plots of land transformed into seas of pink blossoms for only three days out of the entire year.

Even then the enormity of the redemption of spring cannot truly be fully grasped.

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In Niagara, spring reaches its full potential with spectacular verdure. Then all at once the migration from the sunshine of the front porch to the shade and breeze of the back balcony occurs over the course of one day on a long weekend. Suddenly, socks are a burden and rosΓ© a necessity. (Good thing I live in wine country!)

This particular post has been a long time coming. It’s been ‘percolating’ (as Heather would say) in my head for days… weeks, even. Just like the seasons, much has changed since my last post… and then changed again, and then changed back. So many things that I assumed to be steadfast have proven not to be, which can be pretty rattling and provoke some serious soul-searching. Maybe I’m being a laughably typical 20-something, to talk about this crazy time of my life where the day-to-day is an unending rollercoaster ride. The reality of it, however, is that underneath an attempted facade of having it all together is a whole lot of self-doubt and sometimes crippling indecision.

In fact, sometime around this time last year I was riding literal roller coasters at the local amusement park, having a minor crisis of identity trying to decide what to do with my future. Namely, whether to go to law school in Australia or not. I eventually decided I wasn’t going to – it took me nearly an entire year to come back to the decision and reverse it. But it terrifies me, and as exciting and promising as this path for me may be, I wrestle daily with doubt and worry over the risks.

Does this mean I’m getting old? This newfound hesitation to uproot again, to seek out the next adventure? Or maybe it’s just that this time is farther away and for longer than any time before. Or maybe it’s because I am on the knife-edge of two incredibly different options for my life, and the decision for one side or the other cannot be (easily or cheaply) rescinded once made. My friends nearly all have settled down, with families and houses and careers. They may have undertaken large amounts of debt, too, but for mortgages–tangible, sheltering, shining models of utility–not for a piece of paper that may or may not guarantee said shelters, families or careers. I envy them. I admire them. But I am not them, nor they, me, so I must keep walking my own path and trusting that the God above has my life in His hands and under control and that He is bigger than my doubt and my inabilities and what I think my desires are or ought to be.


One thing I continually remind myeslf of to keep my sanity in this, is that there is not necessarily only one “right” path to take. Every choice alters the trajectory, whether microscopically or massively. Every option has its own set of hurdles, joys, challenges, mistakes and successes. There are entirely different groups of people to meet and new connections to make along each way. 


My problem, is that I want it all.

But you can’t have it all, can you? And if you sit around too long wondering which choice is the best while remaining cautious in the interim, you may wind up realising, with alarm and dismay, that you’ve spent your life dreaming of a future you no longer have the time to ceate or enjoy. Maybe it is not so harsh as that – I wouldn’t chance it though, would you? 

So mark your calendars for July 14th, bring some bocce balls and lawn chairs and come on over for my last BBQ as a 27 year old, bachelor-degree-holding bank teller and Niagara resident, because I’m taking the plunge and I’m not looking back. The winter subdued but the spring has revived and it’s time to build some wings. 

(…I hope.)