Caught somewhere between winter, spring, summer and fall lies the Season of Hope. It follows the Season of Change; that awful time of unpredictability. One January I found myself ensnared in both. It started with a job lay off and was followed up with hitting the age of 40. My husband, Davis, was excited for me. He is sometimes delusional.
“You’ve always wanted to be a writer. Here’s your chance. “
“What about money, bills, mortgage?” I asked.
“Don’t worry about that stuff. Take some time for yourself.”
With no excuse left for not pursuing my childhood dream, I did the second best thing. Grabbing some Ben and Jerry’s ice cream, I hit the couch and succumbed to the dark side. It’s a place I’ve been before and am comfortable in. They have sweat pants and chocolate there. Elastic waistbands and ice cream; these are a few of my favorite things.
Eventually, bored with my own self-involvement and my family’s patience running thin, there was nothing left to do but come back from that dark place. Stashing the pints of Ben and Jerry’s back in the freezer, I re-entered the world.
It’s never easy. Self-doubt is one of my favorite companions. Finding a therapist named Camille and paying her good money to say nice things about me helped. I returned to the workforce in a new career. Then I returned to college in search of a new degree. I found a homeless shelter that needed some help and discovered that if I used coupons combined with store sales I could buy food for free and donate that to the shelter. Stepping outside myself, I became swept up in the Season of Hope. And, that is my favorite season.