Grey doesn't have to be miserable.
I am a grey girl. Too many grey t-shirts to count, I am drawn to it's ability to match with everything.
And these wintery days have me wearing it without feeling like I should really be wearing something brighter.
And admiring the greys in the silvery skies, dark clouds and angry ocean, wind beating against my face, drops of salt spray and rain splatter.
Brushing the shiny grey fur of my Indiecat with my fingers as she buries her head in her paws, curled up tight.
And though I've felt a little bit stormy, and grey myself, I'm breathing in these cold days; still wrapping fingers around hot mugs of tea, as I wrap my heart around where I'm headed and how, just how I can do all this.
Ever feel like you're drowning in a sea of crippling self-doubt?
My self-talk hasn't been too kind lately, and I'm changing it.
And I suppose the brave is in the getting back, and getting up, and forgiving myself [for being the giant cringe-worthy dork I often feel like] and forgetting it all and just trying again.
The brave is definitely in the trying again.
And the being put back together again.*
And they grey days are great days, and school-holiday-days, and we're searching for colour and for meaning all at once.
* Psalm 119:105-112 MSG