I’m quite good at beginnings.
I sharpen my pencils, press blush onto my cheeks, and dress myself in clothes that fit like the first day of school. I hum a little melody that only I know—one I’ve handpicked for the moment—and make my entrance with all the confidence of a person who hasn’t yet realized they’re wrong. First steps are fun.
It’s the steps after, and the steps after that where I find myself stumbling. When there’s no crowd to cheer me on, no clock to keep me company, no real finish line, I realize that I’m just...walking.
And lately (because of ye olde unprecedented times), the walking hasn’t felt particularly “forward.” It’s lateral. Moving from one place to another, pacing between projects indeterminately. Trying to rouse that first step energy when I can, moving on to the next when I can’t.
But today’s reminder is that movement doesn’t have to be a forward force—the point of a dance is not to arrive, it is to dance.
As we wake up to another week, I want to see it, to recognize it, to name it. I want to carry the sparks of this Monday to the kindling that’s neatly piled up on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday.
Each sunrise is a celebration of something new. If you listen, the birds will tell us that they do not know the difference between Monday or New Year’s or your golden birthday. Every day is an opportunity to wake up.
So wake up.
Next Steps: Drink a glass of water, set a recurring alarm for the rest of the week, and breathe deep: today is the start of something new, and tomorrow is, too. And so on.