I stand at the precipice.
I struggle to keep my balance.
I open myself one stitch at a time.
(Words by Jason Robert Brown)

I’ve never been skiing. When my high school band took a ski trip my freshman year, I chose to not participate as I had recently injured my knee and didn’t need any help injuring it further. I don’t really like the mountains anyway. They’re beautiful and all, but you can fall off a mountain. You can careen down the snowy slopes with no warning.

The past 6 months, I’ve careened down a snowy slope. Two weeks ago, my careening came to an abrupt end. I stopped just short of flying off the edge of the cliff, my head still reeling from the whirlwind I had been in and the whiplash of my sudden stop. For a moment, there was a sweet relief. Finally, I stopped sliding out of control. Finally, a moment to breathe … never mind that I’m clinging to the edge of the cliff with only one hand, dangling perilously off the side.

Except, eventually the reality of my precarious situation has begun to outweigh my relief.

I didn’t choose this.
I didn’t ask for this.
All I asked for was space to breathe.

I will lean into the muck and mess.
I will, however, choose joy in the midst of uncertainty (as often as I am able).

Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait and watch and work: you don’t give up. — Anne Lamott