A line from Astronautalis keeps repeating in my head. “We swim against the tide until our every bone is broken.”
This.
We don’t think we can do this. Any of it. Keep giving it our best and knowing it isn’t even close to good enough.
But every day we keep existing is proof to the contrary. It’s always been sufficient.
Repeat.
In yoga my teacher talks about impermanence. Nothing stays. Joy, sadness, life. It all flits in and out of existence.
I roll my eyes in a very sarcastic “tell me something I don’t know” way as I exhale back into downward dog.
An hour later I approach her softly and start speaking before she turns to face me. “Thank you. That was exactly what I needed to hear today.”
Clawing our way up. Reaching.
Ruby Pipes 
My partner reminds me that I asked him to show me signs of spring. He constantly takes my arm and guides me through his garden, pointing out curled up grubs in soft soil, soft catkins are falling off alder trees, helleborus is blooming, crocus coming next. Birds, frogs, deer fat with babies coming soon, tufts of hair shedding from dogs.
I feel those broken bones too. But the tide rises. The tide falls.
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We just put so much into surviving winter I wonder if we have anything left to make it through spring. But we always have. It’s all in cycles. You know what blooms you can expect.
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I often wonder if I don’t crave the spring bulbs so much because they’re beautiful, or if it’s because the wait to see them is so long.
We are almost there, though.
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