Mary Oliver Monday

Are you on the cusp of something shiny and new, that’s equal parts requisite and terrifying?

Me too. Here’s a good reminder from poet Mary Oliver to take a deep breath and go little by little.

The Journey

One day you finally knew Nice, France
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice—
though the whole house

began to tremble
and you felt the old tug

 at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world
determined to do
the only thing you could do—
determined to save
the only life you could save.

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