i’m not big on new years resolutions. i’ve made it through the bulk of january without buckling under the pressure to codify grand proclamations about the “new and improved” me that will emerge this year.

it all feels too contrived. or perhaps too pressured. a commitment to expectations that, if left unfulfilled, become another potential source (as if we need anymore!) of stress or disappointment. hopes and dreams #fail…or something like that.

but inevitably, the beginning of a new year does cause you to take stock. consider the status quo. contemplate changes. assess risks. hit the reset button on the same old, same old.

i have utterly no idea what’s around the corner, but the strangest feeling has hit me over the course of the last few weeks. something just clicked. it’s like a switch has been flipped. maybe it’s the lingering afterglow of holiday happiness. or warm fuzzies from quality time with the family. or simply just the vaguest sense that good things are in store.

…ironically, as the wet, arctic icy blast is blowing through the city, i can’t help but feel the warmth of possibility. i woke up this morning, eyes still shut, but a slideshow of images, some of my favorite shots, cycling through my mind.

"what changes are you planning to make?" a friend recently asked me.

"don't worry about it," i said...because i'm not.

some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next. delicious ambiguity... -Gilda Radner

during the month of february, if you live in the midwest, things get pretty brutal for a nice long stretch. bone chilling cold. charcoal-colored snow piles stained from exhaust fumes. parched skin. chapped lips. grey skies as far as the eye can see.

recently, we had a welcome respite of warmer weather, which melted the layers of snow piled up on the city streets. the build-up blanketing tree branches also thawed, leaving sad branches that were gnarled, barren, leafless…lifeless.

cold and grey on the outside = bitter on the inside. the professionals have a name for it: "seasonal affective disorder" (aptly named SAD). when you’re going through a rough patch, the bleak surroundings make your plight all the more dismal. it's hard to see the light.

but then you do.

the other day, i was getting into the car and noticed this bird’s nest perched up in one of the trees outside our house. it too looked dead. abandoned. no sign of life. no hint of hope.

yet it was hopeful. every year, as they always do, the birds come back. when we step out our door come springtime, we’re greeted by chirping. if you look even closer, you can see the tiny buds on the branches.

it seems strange to look to nature for parallels in life—after all, we’re supposedly higher order beings capable of thinking, feeling, loving, hating, climbing, seeking, giving up. but it’s hard to ignore the signs.

from the ashes comes possibility. if you've ever seen the planet earth series, there is chill-inducing footage of a blazing prairie fire that wipes out vegetation, drives herds of gazelles from their habitat, leaving death and destruction in its wake...then like a miracle, sprouts of grass emerge from the scorched earth.

even amidst darkness, there is hope. nature won't disappoint...and in my opinion, neither will life.