The clocks went forward on Sunday.
Spring is coming.
And the promise of spring isn’t just inching closer anymore. I’m ready, set, and going to revel in the longer days and warmer air on the horizon. Plus that itch to start planning good things again? It definitely needs a good scratch.
And yet somehow, at the very same time, it feels like the world has taken 50-gabillion giant steps backwards.
Tumbling into old, destructive patterns. Creating waves of chaos, fear, uncertainty, and tragic loss. With 24/7 social posts and news headlines making my head spin, my words curse, and all of us wondering how in the hell we ended up here again?
To say I’m at a loss for words doesn’t even cut it.
In the middle of what should feel like a season of renewal — the hope of better — there’s this wedged tension between that hope and this new heaviness. Mother Nature’s light is trying to push forward, but now there’s this lingering, uncertain shadow hanging around us all.
Since the clocks moved forward, I’m still working to do the same. Pushing forward with quiet hope.
A hope that things reverse… well, really, just stop. And not just long enough for the usual talks. I mean, stop. Permanently. The end.
That peace, calm, and logical heads find their way back into the conversation instead of dragging us toward more destruction.
That somehow, collectively, we remember how to move forward instead of always sliding backwards.
Spring is still coming.
Hoping the optimism it brings — in abundance — helps us remember and see the humanity in each other.
Spring is still coming.
Longer days. Warmer air. Clearer minds. A genuine pull toward better things.
And for all our sakes, I’m just praying the world remembers how to follow the light too.
