Chalk.
I used to loathe you. The way you would dry out my hands. I would dread touching you to color the sidewalks. I had to touch you. It was my job to implement community art projects. I had to use you on the sidewalk. I had to use you on the pavement. I had to use you on an abandoned house. You were everywhere. And... because of your chalk-like nature, you could disappear as though you were nowhere, too. Unless of course you spill in powder form, then you're there forever and a #$%# to clean up.
Chalk.
I learned to love you, but it was a slow process. I saw your benefits. I knew the dry hands were temporary. I liked the way you would blend. I softened up to you, chalk. You helped me on my college graduation project. I spent a month building and framing an 8 foot tall chalk board for you. You helped me decorate my mind into tangible reality... but I still didn't love you. I met your cousin, the chalk board marker, and preferred him.
Chalk.
I became a rock climber. The first few months I would run immediately to wash my hands after we finished our climbing session in the gym. I still hated the way you made my hands feel. I carried lotion with me every time I climbed outside. Sometimes, I'd even put lotion on in between climbs only to chalk up again. Pointless, I know, but I had to do it.
Then the tables turned and I barely realized it.
I started to forget you were on my hands because of what you allowed me to do. My focus shifted to being completely present on the wall, or excitement that I could erase you with ease. After becoming a climber, I renamed you from "chalk" to "the white powder of courage."
White Powder of Courage.
You soak up the nervousness leaving my body and make it possible for me to grip when I should have slipped. You soak up the moister in the Thailand air as I climb in a dream destination. You dry out my hands and I'm thankful for it after I accidentally grab a hold full of water. You are always there with me as I'm breathing through a difficult move. You help calm my hands when I'm shaking and remind me that I can do this. Whenever I pause, I chalk up my hands even if I don't need to because you are symbolic courage.
I love the way you decorate my face, my clothes, after a day of rock climbing. I love the way you don't complain about blood.
White Powder of Courage.
This is actually a love letter. I love that you enhance my passions of hand lettering and rock climbing. I am thankful for you. I get excited when I see you in my Christmas stocking. I could not do what I do without you.