What is it about this cold, gray month that feels like a time for second chances?

The solidifying of new friendships and healing of old ones.

The late nights of existential angst, deep conversations, and rushed studying for tests.

The panic of getting that 50,000-word quota alongside thousands of other hopeful writers.

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sometimes it’s the small things

I played a good, hard game of football today, and it was fantastic.

Now, laying on my bed, I feel helpless and hurt, broken and battered. I want to sleep but I don’t feel like I deserve it somehow. I remember all I’ve failed to do today, and I think of how it’ll only get worse tomorrow.

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“Hope is the thing with feathers…”

It is curious that our reaction to changes in weather seem to imitate the nature of the weather itself.

Snow, for example, provokes a frigid sort of response, a restrained and marveling awe that manifests itself physically in a gasp of icy cold air and a shiver down one’s spine.

Warm weather causes a much more gentle reaction, both mentally and physically. Rather than gasps, sighs escape our lips. Rather than restrained marvel, relaxed contentment fills our hearts.

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