Tawow sikwan! Welcome, spring! This past week marked the first day of the season, and though I know there isn’t a magic switch that instantly transforms the world, it still feels official. Maybe it’s silly—just something in my head—but honestly, I do feel better. The air feels warmer, lighter somehow, and it smells different too. Not the thawed-dog-poop kind of smell (thankfully), but crisp, clean air that carries the promise of change.
And the feel of it—spring is finally here. Thank goodness.
Back when my kids were young and our lives revolved around sports like minor hockey, spring was a welcome shift in pace. By March, we were all desperate for a break from the relentless busyness. But now, with no kids in sports and just my partner and me, spring feels… different. Sometimes, it feels like an achievement. Like I’ve survived another winter. That probably sounds dramatic, but it’s real. There’s a deep relief in not having to navigate icy sidewalks, scrape frost from the windshield, or endure the cooped-up feeling of long, dark months.
I used to embrace winter—snowshoeing, running, being outside every single day, even in the biting cold. Now? I still do it, but not with the same enthusiasm. I’m older. Less motivated. Some days I even ask myself, “Why am I still doing this?” But then, as soon as I’m out there, I remember. It feels good. It makes me feel alive. And that aliveness? That’s something I’ve been missing lately.
This past week, I’ve felt tired. Sad, even. I’m not entirely sure what’s going on, but I know what’s missing: the pull to be outside, to hike, to walk, to breathe in the fresh air. So when spring arrived, I took a deep breath, shook off the cobwebs, and leaned into it. Suddenly, I felt a flicker of something I hadn’t felt in a while—motivation, hope, maybe even a little excitement.
I dug out my backpack, checked my freeze-dried food stash, hit Amazon for some gear, and pulled out my maps. And just like that, the dreams started forming. So many places to explore. So much to see. Last year, I completed my peak program, which made it easy to find company for overnight hikes. But this year feels different. This year, I want to walk a different path—one my daughter once explored.
I want to walk and think about her. And then I want to keep walking until I’m not thinking about her at all. There’s a lot I need to process, a lot I need to sit with. Grief has a way of creeping up on you when you least expect it.
Spring brings the promise of new adventures, but it also reminds me that summer will follow—and with it, the weight of missing her. Soon, my year of firsts will come to an end. It will be one year without her. And then, just like the seasons that come and go, the years will pass too. My reality of denial will settle into something more permanent. This spring will give way to the next, and the next, and so on.
But for now, I’ll take this moment. I’ll let the fresh air fill my lungs, let the sun warm my face, and take the first steps toward something new. Because spring is here, and with it, the tiniest hint of renewal.