Winter. The 6 months between Halloween and whenever-the-hell-Spring/Summer-decides-to-show-up. The worst 180+ days for me that happen every year, without fail. Death. Taxes. And the complete shititude of a New England Winter. For those of you who like skiing and winter activities I’m sure I’ve already pissed you off and you’ve stopped reading. But beyond these juvenile “observances” of mine there really IS a reason I detest winter.
Winter makes the rest of the year full of decisions. And quite frankly I’m tired of EVERYTHING being a decision. The last thing I need is to be engulfed in more of them regarding quite literally every facet of my life. I’m 43. I’ve lived here for far too long, seen enough seasons to know I won’t miss them, shoveled more snow than I ever imagined, and dealt with more rainy Saturdays and perfect Mondays than I can recall. All of this boils down to 1 simple rule for me: I want to just “be” without fearing that if I miss a moment now I won’t get it back.
My brain knows I shouldn’t feel this way. In New England as an adult child of 2 great parents, a Father of the 2 most astoundingly-awesome children I could ever hope for, I know I should relish being here. The educational opportunities are tremendous, the hospitals and health care industries are unparalleled. The geography is varied and can be stunning – from oceans to mountains to cobblestones streets and sky scrapers – hell I just learned we have vineyards in Vermont. My kids attend a wonderful school, have great friends that live mere feet away, and have blossomed as a result. It’s not cheap but it’s also not an area I’d skimp on. And part of my internal struggle is the constant rope-pulling between the brain and the emotion.
Truth be told I don’t care about seasons. I like one season – the season of warm. I like flip flops, t shirts, swimming pools, the ocean. Those represent easy living, even when it isn’t so. It’s the feeling of peace. Of inspiration from my surroundings. Even if all I’m inspired to do is drink a beer while watching the kids play in the yard. I can do that on Wednesday where it’s warm. Or maybe Thursday instead because Wed we had a dentist appointment for our son. The beauty is that we’d have that “Thursday” or “Friday” or whatever day. And it wouldn’t be at the expense of something else. A forced algebraic equation about how spending X Hours on Day Y doing Activity Z multiplied by a happiness quotient of pie-squared, itself generated from it’s own complicated formula of ratio of overall satisfaction to days lived. Being able to enjoy some activity without worrying about all those that one isn’t doing. Having to trade one thing for another because there isn’t time to do more than 1. Unless doing them all half-assed.
I know I’m fortunate. I just can’t believe it all the time.