When I was writing The Ever Afters in Portland, I had this mug, big enough to hold an entire French press of coffee. On the outside, it was blue. On the inside, it read: “It’s good to be queen.”

It entertained me to drink coffee and/or eat ice cream out of this mug while I was writing adventures about the Triumvirate fighting the evil Snow Queen. When my roommate teased me good-naturedly about the mug, I shrugged and said, “I’m the queen of my own life.” And we both laughed. 

Same energy here. I’ve been up in Montana with my brother and chosen sister (a.k.a. my sister-in-law—my brother chose her first, and that’s important.) It’s actually the same place where I finished OF GIANTS AND ICE. 

When I shoveled the snow on Friday, I made a pre-meditated snow sculpture: a throne of my very own. 

Why? 

First, sometimes, you just make things, because it’s fun. If you’re a bit sad, silly creativity can lift your spirits. (I have a whole post about that.)

Second, I’m feeling queenly this month. I’m going to call this throne My “I-Survived-2020-and-it’s-epilogue-January-2021” chair.

Surviving Jan. feels like a special accomplishment: several members of my family contracted COVID, including myself. (No need to worry—we are all safe and recovering. Mainly, I have roughly 65% of my stamina and sense of smell back.) I quarantined for twenty-five days—and spent eleven of those days in the same room, trying to make sure my brother didn’t get it. 

To be clear, I still grieve the pandemic and its consequences, much like everyone else. My heart aches for anyone who is seriously sick, who loves someone seriously sick, or has lost someone this past year. One of my closest college friends passed away from COVID complications this past April, not too long before her thirty-fourth birthday, and I’ve been thinking about her often these days, now that I’ve survived the disease that killed her. 

Less seriously, I also accidentally locked myself out of the house about twenty minutes after these pictures were taken and had to shovel my way off the porch to get to the front door. (And that wasn’t even the most intense thing to happen that day.) 

But that’s pretty much the point. Life is going to happen to you, and much of it will be uncomfortable—even painful. But you can make a practice of finding moments, of joy, silliness, and play.

Even when life is painful and difficult, you can create a tiny pocket of celebration even in the middle of whatever mess you find yourself in. You just have to give yourself permission to look for an opportunity. 

For example, on Friday, I had enough physical energy to shovel the porch—and enough energy left over to make a snow sculpture. It’s a small thing, yes, but that doesn’t change this fact:

I’m queen of my own life, and I make my own thrones—even if this one is in the process of melting right now.