With Best Intentions, Spring Arrives

Spring is finally here.

It never quite feels like it till Easter - all the church-goers dressed in their brightest of colors. The lovely mothers and daughters in their flower-print dresses and all the handsome fathers and sons in their khakis and pastels and boat shoes. Soon the sandals and summer dresses and crop tops will return, along with the t-shirts and swim trunks and bikinis. Like the summer itself, these things could not be more expected, or more wonderful.

Bear, my one-year-old son went to his first Easter service in his best corduroy pants and button-down shirt, a smattering of hair product in his locks to tame his wild cowlicks. He walked around the foyer, smiling flirtatiously at everyone, till he tired himself out and fell asleep in his stroller, his little bare feet sticking up over the safety bar, begging to be tickled.

Oh, to be young - all gas, no brakes. I want to lean down and whisper, "Pace yourself, buddy," but he doesn't and shouldn't.

Though it's been over a year since we moved to Virginia, I still feel like a transplant - still too much Colorado in my veins. I get antsy for the cool recycled air of a climbing gym, a decent coffee shop, a good craft beer. I daydream about seeing another Rocky Mountain sunset - the sky aflame with orange and gold. I miss the fly fishing I never did, the mountains I was too afraid to scale.

Virginia has been a beautiful home for the past year and a half, though I seldom think I appreciate it enough. Maybe that's how it is with all the things that are good. Our friends, our partners and spouses, our children, our food, our stuff. Always good. Never quite good enough.

My beautiful wife of 15 years asked me the other day if I was happy. I told her, "Oh man, I'm almost always happy. But I'm rarely content." I default to wanting "more" or "again" or "one more slice, please." There's never a "last one" for me - always room for one more.

The dance partner to this discontent, however, is the near-constant anxiety that I'll wind up chasing the dragon too far. Which is the donut that I finally get diabetes from? The drink that finally drowns and incapacitates my liver? The obsession with a project that finally drives me to yell at my team or a client or both? The insult or needy gesture that finally loses me another friend?

I've lost a lot of friends over the years. Some carelessly, others slowly and intentionally, some entirely by their own accord and from left field. Those have been rare. Most of the time, I can pinpoint where things went wrong, and it's usually been - at least partly - my doing. Unkindness, selfishness, and possessiveness are my curses as a friend - not a great trio. I want more than I confess. Then, the bottom falls out.

In truth, I waited for the same thing to happen to my marriage for years. I figured, one day, Kayla's gonna get sick of this and take off. But she never has, and at least as of this morning, she's still around. 15 years. Still forgiving, still offering me her kindness and compassion and loyalty - despite my lack of all the above.

I should be more grateful. I know that's fall's schtick, what with Thanksgiving and all, but I want to make the case for spring as the best time to regain one's gratitude.

As the earth comes back to life, and animals and birds and rollerbladers emerge once again from their hiding places, maybe this is the best time to fall back in love with what is around us. These people and things and places that made it through the long, cold, lifeless winter, and now once again burst forth alongside you. In life.

Thanks to Ryan Reynolds and Rob McElhenney and their wonderful show, Welcome to Wrexham - I'm becoming convinced all over again about the importance of friendship. The kind of friends that will wrap you in a hug and lift you in the air in greeting or celebration. The kind to call you on your shortcomings in private but speak and affirm the best of you to anyone who will listen. The kind who believe wholeheartedly in you, in your goodness and potential, and who - by their very presence - seem to bring it out of you naturally. Those with whom you feel safe and adventurous all at the same time.

If there was ever the right company to do something bold with - it's with these kinds of friends. And if there were ever a season for that kind of endeavor, it's spring.

Springtime brings new ambition, new excitement, new prospects for hope and joy and experience. But for me, this spring brings with it the oddest and rarest of hopes - an anti-ambition. I hope, this spring, to begin finding a little contentment.

To not need another.

To know it was good, and part of it being good, was that it's over, and there won't be more.

Could this be, at long last, the secret to that contentment I've craved for so long?

Only spring will tell.

Cheers.