It was after a long and bitter winter that, as a child, I happened upon a tiny flower growing in the earth. For months, I had suffered through bulky jackets and double sweaters, or found myself trapped indoors, waiting for the heaps of everlasting snow to thaw. Imagine my surprise when I found a single, purple flower rising from the barren ground. The sky had been gray for months, the trees bare, but here, under my feet was a tiny, colorful miracle. It was in this joyous moment that I knew spring had finally arrived.
There’s another winter that I’m hoping will end, but it’s not in the weather outside – it’s in my heart. Terror befell us less than four years ago, and in that time so much has changed. Whipped into a frenzy of fear, I find myself in a world I didn’t wish for. War and divisiveness blur every front, and I’m forced to confront my demons at every turn. Sometimes, it’s too much for me to handle.
I just want to shut it out and watch TV, to buy something nice, or spend some quiet time with family. Sometimes I just want to forget, to pretend things are as they were, before the seasons changed and things got cold.
But, every now and then, there’s a force that urges me to speak, and I know I can’t sit quietly in my safe cocoon while the world grows colder. I can’t allow this pervasive divisiveness to destroy the better world I know is possible. And I can’t wait for others to make these changes in my name. I must do so for myself, in the many choices of my day, in the myriad actions of my life.
And when I think about this too much, I sometimes get scared. It’s so easy for me to fall back into fear. I’m bombarded with images, horror stories, and what ifs: That guy sitting next to me on the subway – what’s in his briefcase? And my neighbor, who are all those guests he has over? And, God forbid, what if there’s a nuclear blast in the city?
And what if I speak out – what if I say what I really feel – won’t people think I’m a terrorist or unpatriotic or some crazy hippie liberal because I dare to question the status quo?
When I sat down to write this piece, I didn’t know how to begin. My mind wandered, and remembered the purple flower that heralded the end of winter. How apt, I realized, because, in a way, I’m that bulb, frozen in the ground, waiting for the thaw, afraid that if I stick my head up I’ll be all alone, out of season, frozen in a frost. But I also know that if I never try to become all that I am capable of being, I will never be that flower. I have to at least try; otherwise, I’m just a seed stuck in an earthly cocoon.
Several days after I had seen that flower, a dozen new plants had begun to poke their limbs above the earth. I saw how that first splash of color was a sign of many more beautiful things to come. I hope it’s the same with the seasons inside me, because I can’t convey how eagerly I await the joy of another Spring. – Matthew Kressel. Matthew Kressel is a writer and computer freelancer who lives in Hoboken. He can be reached at matty@inch.com.