March President's Letter
I am unusually ready for Spring this year. Typically I enjoy the cold weather and short days, reasons to curl up in the evenings with warm mug and a book. For some reason, this year I'm done with it. I could blame it on the late snow, but February snow has been our normal the last several years. And I think it's more than weather anyways. I think I'm ready for Spring because I'm excited. I'm excited about growth and new adventures and big possibilities. The past couple years have been hard for me, personally, and I feel the tides turning. I feel a shift in the universe, and she's telling me things that I'm ready to hear, ready to respond, ready to work. It's not a plan or a program or a new way of thinking. It's a fervor of some sort. And I can't quite put my finger on it, but I know it's there and I'm welcoming it's hope and it's promise. Because isn't that what Springtime is … a promise?
What are you hoping for this Spring? Growth? Happiness? Answers? Doesn't it seem if something as simple and unassuming as a flower bulb knows the exact right time to bust through the earth and grow, that we should follow suit? Doesn't it seem that the time is right to bloom? I see daffodils breaking through the snow: they are not afraid, because they know what's to come. So I'm following suit. If robins and flowers and trees aren't afraid to brave today's cold, knowing that sunshine is near, neither am I. I'm putting in the work today, trusting the promise of Spring.
Earlier this year we lost a national treasure in the passing of poet Mary Oliver. Please take a moment to enjoy one of my favorite poems:
by Mary Oliver
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.