there is no difference between today and tomorrow. if you have dwelled with fear, and grief, and pain, and loss, and uncertainty this year, they will probably still be there tomorrow. a hundred resolutions cannot undo this. but would you do something for me? put your hand on the small temple in the middle of your chest, close your eyes, and listen to the determined rhythm of your heart quietly pumping blood to every hidden corner of the landscape of your body. you are still here. you are still alive. you have not left. there is still hope. you have not met all the people who will still fall in love with the way that you laugh. there will be summer days where the breeze will find the naked skin on the back of your neck, and you will shiver with delight—the sheer pleasure of being right here, right now. though you may face many difficult things in the days to come, here is your breath holding you up, and all around you will be kindness, and pockets of beauty—waypoints, shaped from the light. look for them.

{photograph of lichen, taken at Mugdock, Scotland}