On the trail


I am still marveling at what a week of extended, ever-longer days of light and constant sun (even with cold temperatures) can do for you. I knew that February was bad while in it, but I had not realized how acutely.

I’m in the middle of reading about seven books at once now, which is what happens to me when I start reading again.

I found a note I’d made to myself in 2009 or early 2010 when I first met my one of my dearest friends. It is so typical of the kind of conversation/misunderstanding that transpires between us and makes us laugh:

“Yesterday I tried to tell A. about Bill Bryson and his Appalachian Trail book. Somehow she had him mixed up in her head with… Stephen Hawking. I said something about hiking the trail, and she was confused, “He cannot even walk; how can he hike a trail?”

How I love that woman.



“That was a hold-onto-the-table moment!”

Staring at my poor hand, the victim of my pen exploding on it while trying to scribble down a note while sitting in a parking lot this morning, I’m trying to remember everything I wanted to write down. Black ink everywhere. It feels a little bit like everything has of late – big splotches everywhere messing up the otherwise clear and expansive horizon.

The sun is out! Here in my corner of the world it feels and looks like spring – bright, clear daylight before 7 in the morning. Sun! Have I ever been this elated about sun in my entire life? I suddenly understand why my ex, who lived for sun, would exclaim, “There is sun here!” each and every time it appeared. He practically took the day off work to enjoy it (it was Seattle – you can’t count on getting more if you don’t grab it and enjoy the moment, which is, actually, true of most things in life). I rolled my eyes at a lot of his declarations of joy. I simply had not lived long enough yet to realize that even (maybe especially) these small things are as important as they are.

It is always a bit like this in March; I really am like a bear stumbling out of a cranky hibernation. I start the new year feeling hopeful pretty much every time, but February always knocks me down (some years worse than others). Through my own myopic stupidity, this year I let many feelings expand and expand at the expense of other things, like living in suspension (which I kind of do anyway in February). This time I came back to life for real as March dawned and realized what I have neglected, how inadvertently small the world can become/how my concerns shrink when I prioritize too much depth (and overthinking, one of my greatest weaknesses) over the broadest possible horizon.

The sun, the bright and long days, reawaken the curiosity, the desire, the urge to explore, step out of the shadows of winter – to run hills, to sing at the top of my lungs (or even quietly), to take coffee in the evening on the deck, to throw my arms around everything and everyone I love.

Photo (c) 2010 RyAwesome.

Pass the days


I woke up too early today, laughing. I have noticed that every morning brings light slightly earlier; every afternoon extends just a little bit longer. This is the literal light at the end of the tunnel.

My mood has been uneven, veering toward the desire for constant sleep – as always happens in February. Not in a good mood, cranky, antisocial, wanting hibernation and to be left alone. I thought I might avoid this ‘affliction’ this February because I felt as though I ended January on a relative ‘up’. No such luck. I pushed it.

Having made such an effort to write every day, I could not let today pass without writing a blog post, despite having very little to write. I have written some other things I am not ready to post, not sure if I want them to be out in the open, fearing that they will be misread or misinterpreted. I might need to be in a better mood to deal with that.