I swear the devil bundled up a little diddy of a day and hurled it my way, straight from the pit of hell last week. And bad days are dangerous for me because I have this spiraling-type personality, and when I feel one thing spinning out of control, I assume everything will follow suit and come apart at the seams.
For the record, life goes on.
And because life goes on, everyone woke up the next morning, slightly exhausted from the wounds of the day before, bleary eyed and unsure of what to expect. It had left a bad taste in our mouths and we walked with careful steps through the morning, breath bated at every baby fuss or scary looking email or toddler trip or any little thing that fell to the floor and made a loud noise.
Desperate for distraction, I asked Iris what she wanted to do that morning, because there is nothing cooler than having a kid who can communicate their opinions to you; and she said, "I take a wide in the droller." I blinked and felt the universe nodding that, yes, the day would be better than the one before. After all, my busy-bee baby had just willingly consented to confinement, and who was I to argue? Besides. It was 70 degrees outside, perhaps another motion from nature willing us on.
So we packed a lunch and adjusted the stroller seats and we hit the gardens. I called no one, lest the day turn sour on us later, and we made up our own adventure. We looked at waterfalls and walked through the woods and navigated mazes and tunnels. Everyone was cheery with the sun on our cheeks and a warm breeze whipping through pigtails and fuzzy baby hair.
Not much is going on yet, vegetation-wise. But I love that the gardens are always open because it opens your eyes to the process. So much of their lives, the plants are dormant or being pruned back or even dead-looking. Still somehow, it was a sight to behold. The beauty was there, said our wonderment, or maybe at least our eagerness to see it.
And then I realized that a bad day is part of the process too. When it feels like you're having quite a few and when you're positive it's all going to fall apart, it's probably just an indicator that it's really about to come together. Because all winter long you've been growing wild with ideas and really no direction; but as the spring approaches, you've got to take a little processing in order for the bigger picture to form. A bad day or a misstep or a closed door is nothing short of a good cleansing, preparation for whatever is to be revealed in the near future.
That's what I always forget about spring. Sure it's great to warm up and get outside and watch the world wake up. But there also is this sense of coming together. The restlessness and chaos of those long, late winter months starts to dissipate and expose what's been invisibly at work--in the world and in us.
So, welcome back to life. I'm on my way back too.