The morning my daughter was born, as I was holding her to my chest for the very first time, the doctor leaned in toward my husband and I to share some sage advice. "It's your job to worry," he said to me. Then turning toward my husband, "it's your job to take care of her while she worries." 

As we sat there in the hospital gazing upon this beautiful little new being, the doctor's words floated away in the air. I watched him leave the room and shortly after, we were tasked with what would become years of all the little things one does to and for a small child. 


It was a beginning. 

A big one. 

And worry I would. And worry I do. 


And perhaps this worry is an inevitable part of beginnings. To start over, start again, even without a marked ending. To embark, set sail, forge on. Take flight. To discover. 


If it is, then what we are really saying, is that our love of adventure fills us more deeply than the worry that sits so closely beside our new endeavors. That it's worth it. To even for a brief moment, experience something new or different. To soar. 


This new or different, is really, unknown. Change. Uncertainty. And often, chaos. Words that we don't like so much. But they sit right up next to each other, alongside worry. Right there, close to adventure, discovery, and exploration. And they are not dissimilar, except that we want to experience one group of words over another. We welcome adventure and wish to bypass the unknown, worry, chaos. And this is unfair. And also impossible. 


Things you will never avoid: 

The unknown 






So let's decide to let them touch. These words. That beginnings mean all the things. That we feel all the things. And that in the end, the list we try to bypass, the feelings we don't want to feel are also part of what we run toward. 


Things you will never avoid: 







Life is all the things. All at once. 



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