Yes, of course it hurts when buds are breaking. Why else would the springtime falter? Why would all our ardent longing bind itself in frozen, bitter pallor? After all, the bud was covered all the winter. What new thing is it that bursts and wears? Yes, of course it hurts when buds are breaking, hurts for that which grows and that which bars. 

I thought I would share one of my favorite poems today! It's called Yes, Of Course It Hurts by Karin Boye, a Swedish poet and novelist from the early 1900s. It's a beautiful and vivid portrayal of the fear that can hold us back from letting go or from taking a leap of faith - even when the end result will be something good or beautiful. The fear of the unknown can be #real. I love this reminder that though things may be hard and we may be fearful of what's to come, we may end up being be like the drops who forget their fear.

Also, here's a cool poster adaptation of this poem because isn't graphic design just the greatest? (Biased, I know).

I don’t know about you guys, but I for one am all about small improvements. Sometimes a huge goal like “be an all around better person this year” is just too large of an undertaking. If you’ve read The Happiness Advantage, you know that we’re a fan of making small shifts in our mindset to improve the bigger picture. A favorite and a little adapted concept that I practice from that book is telling myself 3 reasons why today will be a great day, before I even get out of bed. It’s a small thing, but it makes a big difference on setting my attitude to enthusiasm (especially on chilly Monday mornings).

I recently stumbled across another small mind shift that really resonated with me that I thought I’d share with you today: It’s switching your “I’m sorry” to “Thank you.” This tactic is for you if your first instinct after a small slip up is to agonize over the issue and apologize profusely, creating a semi-awk situation (I’ve been a pro at this for years).

Instead of bringing out the negative aspect of, for example, being 10 minutes late to a coffee date by apologizing and giving a numbered list of reasons why you’re not on time, try switching your attitude to that of gratitude by saying “Thank you so much for waiting for me.”

This will bring out the positive and gracious side of the situation, allowing you to move on, instead of unproductively brooding over your missteps. Before you start begging pardons for the spelling error that your boss caught, try saying “Thank you for the note on that error.”

It requires some practice, but taking the opportunity to appreciate the people around you instead of beating yourself up over something small will leave both parties better off in the end.

The Eastern Sierras are littered with mines; remnants of the Californa gold rush. On one of my hikes, I stumbled upon one of these mines and that is where my tale begins.

Headlights strapped to our heads, my friends and I confidently ventured past the "do not enter sign" (as many good adventures begin). As we walked into the blackness, our breath steamed out of our mouths. The temperature dropping as the light behind us faded away. Half an hour later, the dot of sunlight that was the entrance flickered to nothing as it was overtaken by the black.

The three beams of our headlights continued on when all of a sudden the tunnel opened up into a grand cavern. The floor, littered with thousands of core samples, like little granite pillars scattered all over the floor. There, in the center zig-zagging its way up the face of the cavern, stood a series of ladders leading to the top.

My companions on this trip begin to climb, without hesitation (I was full of hesitation). I followed. As I made my way up, the age of these ladders became apparent. This mine had been abandoned since the times of the gold rush, easily around 100 years old. I climb, the floor moving further and further away, I near the top of the third and final ladder.

My stomach, sink or knots (I don't know what my stomach did), as the rung my foot was on disintegrates under my weight. I am falling now. Each following rung that I attempt to grab snaps to pieces. My mind empties (no flashes of my life, no memories - just emptiness).

I continue to reach for anything, the rock wall offering to handholds, my chest hits a large wooden cross beam supporting the ladder structure. I am hanging there, staring at the floor below. I yell at my friends some words I will not repeat in polite company. As always, laughter quickly followed echoing throughout the cavern.

When I entered the mine, I thought the darkness would be the thing I feared most. I would have never imagined that heights would have been involved. (Never assume).