The year is flying past.
I’m loving my new job—I honestly can’t think of a better company to work for or people to work with. That part of my life feels… steady. And that matters more than I expected it would.
Winter has finally broken.
This week, I heard the peepers for the first time.
I forgot how loud they are.
The birds are back too, returning from wherever they disappear to for the winter. Sometimes I envy them—just leaving, avoiding six months of snow, ice, and cold. No digging yourself out. No enduring it. Just… gone until it’s warm again.
But here, we stay.
We endure it.
And then one day, it shifts.
I got my taxes filed on time.
I’ve sent everything to my lawyer for the next court motion—three weeks away now.
It’s an ongoing battle. The last two court dates were adjourned by his lawyer.
Sometimes it feels like I’m getting nowhere fast.
But things are moving. Even if it’s slow. Even if it doesn’t feel like it.
I submitted four of my poems for a poetry slam next month.
My first time reading in public.
That feels equal parts terrifying and freeing.
I don’t feel ready.
But I’ve learned something this year—
Ready isn’t a feeling.
It’s a choice.
I haven’t been going to the gym as much as I “should.”
And honestly? I’m questioning it.
Spring here doesn’t last long. That window between winter ending and everything taking off—it’s small.
So maybe instead of forcing myself inside, I get back outside.
Hiking. Walking. Biking. Swimming in lakes once the ice finally disappears.
(Yes… there is still ice. Of course there is.)
Life hasn’t stopped in the meantime.
I got my car serviced.
I’ve successfully avoided two moose—emergency stops included, which I’m counting as a solid win.
I’ve been trading what I have to move things forward—
a wood stove, a fridge freezer, a kitchen island—in exchange for work.
And it’s working.
The kitchen cabinets are almost installed. Another month and they should be done… minus the flooring, because that’s not in the budget yet.
The washroom renovation is finished.
Upstairs bathroom next. Then painting. Then drywall fixes.
And then—
I’m getting close.
Close enough to sell.
If I can get a judge to force that step forward.
That would be more than just a financial move.
That would be freedom.
A massive shift in mental health. In stability. In everything.
In the meantime, life continues in these in-between moments.
The to-do list shrinks.
Then grows again.
We got outside this weekend—at least half the kids did—and cleared branches and deadfall from the winter. Burned it while we still could, before fire bans come in.
There’s still snow in places, which makes it feel slightly surreal.
A trailer is loaded and ready for the dump—renovation debris, yard cleanup, garage clearing.
It’s not glamorous work.
But it’s progress.
And that’s the thing about this time of year.
There’s such a small window between winter ending and spring fully arriving.
A small window where you can catch up. Get ahead. Reset things before everything starts growing again—faster than you can keep up with.
That’s where I am right now.
In the window.
Not at the beginning.
Not at the end.
Just… in it.
And maybe that’s enough.
Not everything needs to be finished.
Not everything needs to be solved.
Some seasons aren’t about arrival.
They’re about momentum.
And right now—
I’ll take that.
