Seasons I

I grew up in Southern California, so seasonal changes were much more subtle. If you wanted a change in weather, you drove from Santa Monica to Burbank.

I didn't begin to experience or come close to understanding the mood cycles associated with changes in weather 'til college. And fall foliage, snowflakes, and flash storms were such a novelties in college that even extreme New England winters and summers were considered less uncomfortable and more of the grand East coast experience.

Now with nearly a decade of adulthood in NYC, the cycles carry less fascination. Weather becomes significant mostly in terms of what kind of footwear I need or how short I should cut my hair.

But I have noticed that each season draws out a particular aspect of my personality.

I come alive in summer. I want to play. I want to be outside. Early every summer, there is always a Saturday morning when I will wake up with a smile on my face. I throw on some shorts, T-shirt and broken-in sneakers. The humidity wraps my body like a warm bath and I take on the day. The city steams. It smells. It sweats. I sweat. I love it. I hate it. But I love it more.

I slow down in the fall, but my mind becomes more alert. I guess the academic cycle is so deeply ingrained. I want to read. I want to think. I want to discuss ideas, politics and culture. The sweaters emerge from their summer home under the bed and I wrap a scarf around my neck as I walk Brooklyn's streets. Leaves crunch underneanth. There is mystery in the air.

Winter is warm and fuzzy. It keeps me sane. I take the time and move inside to the warmth of an apartment. Frost on windowpanes melt as I cook great hearty stews and cuddle with my love on the couch. Stay in all weekend and drink red wine and watch silly movies. And the chilled air still tastes good, but only for a brief moments. And don't even get me started on Snow. Oh, the magic in the air!

And then we come to Spring.

Maybe it's because I wake from my winter slumber slower, but I have found it difficult to enjoy this season as much as the people I see around me. Past years, I have had to work very hard to find joy despite the beauty that emerges from the grey and still city. I still hold on to winter and the cozy cocoon, but want so badly to enjoy the promised season, that I wished for on those dreadful stormy night waiting for the bus on Atlantic avenue.

It is a terrible thing to want to feel so good and just not be able to. It is also difficult to not be able to articulate to others this experience.

Already I know that this year will be different. My life has been changing in a positive way since I have met Corie and I look forward to our first spring together. In fact the meaning of each change of season is undergoing transformation as we walk through the months together. Maybe it's because she will hold my hand when the hurt comes (if it comes). Maybe its because she will listen (with patience/without judgement) to me express frustration at not feeling as good as I want to. Maybe its just that I am finally growing up.

Or maybe love is allowing me to see the beauty of life blooming in a whole new way.

Posted by alexis at March 25, 2005 11:39 AM