In recent weeks I’ve learned the hard way that not everyone can be trusted. Not everyone is above board. I’ve been reminded that actions speak far, far louder than words.

Promises are easily made and easily broken, and it can be quite jarring to realize you’ve been taken in by someone you trusted in good faith.

It has happened to me before and no doubt it will happen to me again. Disingenuous people often don’t reveal themselves without the passage of time, and by then, all that’s left is to cut your losses and try again.

Try again.

It takes so much courage, doesn’t it? Courage to put yourself out there, to approach new work or friend opportunities with the hope and goodwill that is vital to healthy relationships and working environments.

I find that such courage is often found only after a jolly good cry, a hearty vent against the injustices of the world, and a decent sleep. Then, and only then, can I summon up the oomph to stiffen the ol’ upper lip, take heart, and try again.

Try again.

I don’t know about you, but I find that after umpteen moments of “try again” the whole process can be downright discouraging and disheartening. I told Bear I feel like one of those inflatable dolls with the weighted bottoms that no matter how many times you knock them down, they pop right up again. He laughed and said, “I think that’s a good thing.” I suppose he’s right, but, to be perfectly honest, I just want to stay upright for a while, no knock downs, no topsy-turvy moments, not even a wobble. I want life to be stable and secure and deliciously boring.

But life just laughs when I get these notions, and reminds me of all the knock-downs I’ve weathered in the past, and how I’ve always emerged wiser, stronger, braver, kinder. It is some consolation.

So I take a deep breath and I take those baby steps of hope. I meet that new person, I apply for that new position, I plant that new tree. And I take heart that all these moments of courage and hope will result in something good.

In between those steps of courage, I return to the things that bring me peace: journal on the back veranda, book while curled up in bed, and harvesting good things from my gardens and the markets.

This week my gardens have exploded with tomatoes and cucumbers, beetroots and asparagus, artichokes and more spinach than Bear and I could possibly eat. My medieval friend Sue brought me a whole bucket of ripe jaboticabas from her trees in Brisbane, and my gardening friend Alison picked up a box of gorgeous apricots for me.

There’s something beautifully therapeutic about preserving fresh fruit and vegetables. The gentle cadence of slicing and pitting, coring and peeling, chopping and sorting. My mind ceases its anxious darting about and falls into the calming rhythms of the work. Niggling problems somehow resolve themselves, and I emerge from the task with a settled heart, knowing exactly what I need to do next.

As I forge ahead in this Try Again Week, I take heart from all the lovely people in this world, those who are honest in their dealings and kind in their interactions. You give me courage.

What keeps you going through those try again moments? xo