The question to ask in this newly-minted green, now that a year has passed since I woke again from a decade's sleep, and forged a path through fear and misery to find my way back these past four seasons, to the clamorous assent of all the byways of life, is this: now that year of old bravery is done, winter's past, hibernation's over and fire's rekindled in this wind-blown spring, what does my bravery look like this year?
Last year I learned panic's only beaten by marching right through it. I can't avoid it by halves and expect to see the end of it by detouring around it. Lethargy's only beaten by activity, activity that pushes the boundary to injury. I can't avoid injury and expect to feel alive. I can't avoid toil and expect to feel joy. Despair's only beaten by finding joy in falling down. And in knowing the gift of getting back up is the whole point of mishap.
So, what mishap will I dare this year? What injury will I risk? What fear will I face?
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