As pandemic restrictions lift, could I gently request, dear reader, that you not become a moon to all that is required of you? But that somewhere inside you hold the truth that your actual life is here, on your own planet. That there is an entire world to inhabit, full of mystery and its own wise pacing.

A friend furrows her brow. "I made it through winter," she says. "I did so well this year. But suddenly, I feel like I'm totally falling apart. Like, isn't spring supposed to be flowery? Shouldn't this be the easy part?" We laugh at this, that anything might be the easy part.