What if, instead of asking myself, What do I want to do? I ask, Who do I want to be?
A hush descends on the earth when it snows. It's as if the fluffy white stuff that covers the ground and coats the trees and houses and cars also mutes the volume of the world. The rough edges are smoothed. The hard places soften. In the stillness, magic glitters. Untouched snow collects: fresh, like a blank canvas to be painted, like a story to be written, like a new year to be lived.
2016 sounded like science fiction when I was a child -- eons away. But in my...
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