1. Truth: Having a human body can be so confusing. I can’t talk to it. I can’t see inside. I don’t even really understand how most of it works. And yet, I’m it’s primary caretaker. Sometimes that seems like a really, really bad idea, and most of the time I’m just guessing at what it needs, hoping to get it right.

2. Truth: Other people can help me work with and understand my body. There are amazing, smart, kind people that I can consult with, who know so much more about how things work, have more experience with my particular injuries and illnesses. It’s so helpful, (although every once in awhile, they might add to my confusion).

3. Truth: I am doing the best I can. I’m putting in as much effort as I’m able. I’m paying attention, trying to listen, attempting to understand. I’m open to learning, to adjusting as necessary. I’m trying to drop my agenda about how I want things to be. I’m being gentle, most of the time.

One wish: May we accept our bodies for what they are, vulnerable and impermanent, but also steady and resilient — as Mary Oliver calls them, “a lion of courage, something precious to the earth.”

1. Truth: I have such a bad case of Spring Fever. And we could still get snow. There was one year that at the end of Spring Break we got three feet, so winter isn’t over yet. I know that. I’m not completely delusional. And yet, the few days recently when we’ve gone on a walk and it was warm and the skies were blue and I didn’t have to wear a coat, or it was so nice I drove around with my moon roof open and the heat turned off, or the dogs could take a Kong out into the yard and chew on it while lounging in the grass, it made me realize I was so ready for things to start blooming, to get outside more, to shed some of the layers.

2. Truth: The number on the scale means nothing to me, but it does to other people. It doesn’t measure if I’m healthy or not. It doesn’t measure if I’m happy or not. It doesn’t represent how hard I’m trying or how much I’m loved. There was nursing assistant being trained at my doctor’s office yesterday, and when she wrote down my weight, she transposed the last two numbers, making me much lighter than fact. I assumed she’d gotten it right, corrected herself when she checked it the second time, but when she tried to enter it later into my computer records, it flagged it as an error because the number was so much lower than on my last visit. I corrected her, and she looked confused. I knew exactly what was going on — it was a number she wasn’t used to, a number that when she saw it written down made her make certain assumptions about a person, and when she looked at me, I didn’t fit that assessment.

3. Truth: I can trust myself. And I’m much more content, healthier when I do. When I trust my body to tell me what it needs, trust my own wisdom to guide my choices, instead of listening to someone else’s hysteria, someone else’s criticism, I can balance my effort with ease. I’m much happier when I listen for what I need, trust the whisper I hear inside rather than being overwhelmed by the noise of my environment. I don’t have to justify to anyone why I’m tired and need rest. I don’t have to earn the right to eat when I’m hungry. I don’t have to ask for permission to take up space. As poet Mary Oliver says, “You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.”

One wish: My friend and teacher Susan Piver has been posting daily wishes on her Facebook page. Yesterday’s is my wish for all of us today, “Please have a good day. Don’t be afraid of your own life. Allow the world to touch you. Look for the magic.”