Starting

How do I start?

I started a family with a trip to the humane society.

I started my first ski hill with a prayer and a wave of panic.

I start diets by deleting the number to Joey Nova's pizza from my cell phone.

My broken heart for the homeless started when I gave tubes of Vaseline to men with cracked, bleeding feet on a cold January night in Boston.

I started my love for reading with a public library card.

I started Girl Scouts thinking none of the girls would want to be my friend.

I started twenty years of debt with a college public speaking course in a windowless, basement classroom at 8:00 a.m.

I start communion with confession, I start confession with "I'm sorry" and the actions for which "I'm sorry" are typically started with a compromise.

I start my day with the snooze button. Always.

My deepest healing has started with a laugh.

I start the speech with the promise to not drop the "it's not you, it's me" line.

I start my public transit rides with a hearty hello to the bus driver, even if he grimaces back at my perkiness.

But the funny thing is, when I start writing again, it never actually feels like a new "start" to me. It feels like I'm returning home.