A story about starting

I knew it would be an adjustment going from a home with walls of windows to a 100-plus years old flat that runs fwpid-wp-1419173451566.jpegront to back, north to south. Now we have windows in the front, back and along the west side of the flat overlooking an alley and facing the building next door.  I knew that we’d  have to raise and lower shades to protect from city lights instead of watching day fade to night and dark give way to light without any obstruction.

I knew that we’d have to purse light by heading out and about in our new city.  In August, I was up for the challenge.

But the reality of pursing that goal is hard work made harder by a knee that protests any set of stairs and walking with any sort of pace.  So instead of grabbing hold of the the light here, I’ve been watching it reflect on the buildings across the street and the spires that pierce the sky above this small city from inside that century-plus years old flat.


No movement added to the creeping tendrils of winter dark make for a somber, annoyed and frustrated end of the year.

I’m not good with starts of any sorts (the prime example of this would be consistently adding posts to this space after a “new” beginning).  I usually just want to be the middle of something instead of anticipating a start.  Why?  Partly because I have a decent enough imagination to make bogie monsters out of the most benign happenings.   Or maybe it’s just the fear of making a mistake and unraveling back to the error.  Honestly, you’d think knitting would have cured me of this, but it just makes it worse.

I succeed when I ignore the Start and instead just begin.  No matter where I am if I just give it a go without any strings on the action, so much the better.


This morning, at the start of the shortest day of the year, my writing focused on the dark outside and realizing that in 182 days there will be light in the world around me.  How was I going to bring the light inside?

I set a goal of standing (or sitting in an outdoor cafe) in the light in 182 days. Being me, I actually started toward that goal yesterday with a hip opener yoga sequence in my living room.  So the start is already behind me instead of looming large ahead.

 That light doesn’t have to be from the sun as long as I feel lit from within.  Right now it’s all I can do to keep the small flame — akin to the sputtering candles on a birthday cake — alive, but I’m ready to figure out how to make it a 3-wick 3-foot high pillar candle.

And look at me, I’m already at day two!

As an added bonus, I’ve put off the work of finding a word of the year for 2015. Instead, while writing this it found me.  Simple and clear as day.


3 Replies to “A story about starting”

  1. Love your imagery, Laura. Your tone sounds like the birthing of change. So besutiful in its shadows. Winter Solistice is change which is part of its change, a slow reflectve kind. And I love the way you talk abouy seeking the light. I think change is about that too. Very thoughtful blog. Thank you.

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