The first step is always the hardest.

There are a lot of things that I’m interested in, fascinated by, have a desire to explore, learn, gain some proficiency in. But I am in one place, and all of those things are in another. Literally or figuratively, it’s all the same. I am always reminded of the floor in the corner of the big yellow dining room, away from the doorways, half hidden by the table, coloring books and crayons tucked away in the bottom drawer of the hutch beside me, waiting. The peace of that spot. I would stay there so long it would feel like they’d forgotten about me. When I couldn’t be there, I came to look for pieces of that sensation wherever I was. Tuned out the noises, zoomed in on the details, embraced a stillness and quiet within myself when I could find it nowhere else. First steps always feel like being told to put my coloring books away. Rejoin life. Steel myself for the noise and upheaval and the effort to refind the stillness I had to leave. I know on the other side there awaits all this joy and wonder and all new kinds of peace and contentment, but the weight of that first step is a doozy. With a good angel on one shoulder and a bad one on the other, the only hope I have is to move without thinking.