I can hear the always-familiar sounds of the spring morning birds through my slightly-open window, and even though there’s cause for internal emotional unrest, I quickly shake off the urge to pout.

It’s March, and in keeping with the trend of the last 20 or so years, there’s no looking back on the things which are unpleasant.  The air has a new scent to it – a promise, if you will – the reassurance that stronger sunshine will easily thwart the seedlings of self-doubt, loneliness, and misguided associations.

The world is a selfish place at times, and yet there are those among us who still gaze upon the self-serving with some semblance of shock and awe.  Not me.  I’ve not forgotten that we are merely animals, each of us consumed with an instinctive sense of self-preservation.  There are exceptions – yes – in the handful that seek out a larger, group well-being, but there are, again, the exceptions to the norm.

I find myself increasingly surrounded by the exceptions – a realization which is refreshing and encouraging – but at the same time bogged down by the intricate theatrical stylings of would-be well-wishers and monsters who hide behind thinly-veiled ‘good’ intentions.

Head above water, they will not pull me under.

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