On Seasons

Many Midwesterners find comfort in the changing of the seasons. To me this feeling shifts and fades. As the summer wanes, I do not feel comforted by the impending cool weather. I have gone through too many changes lately to welcome more of this with open arms. Yes the beauty of life is that it is not stagnant, but having the summer stretch on and on and on is the stable spine to the lymphatic fluid that is existence.

I have spent the majority of the years of my life (28/31) experiencing the seasons. This has touched me in a profound way of course, just as it has every person that has lived through the brutality of experiencing 100 degrees and -30 degrees in the same calendar year. ‘It builds character’ we say, and it does. But must it continue building my character? 

‘But Hailey,’ you will say, ‘you chose to live here [in Minneapolis], so you mustn't complain about it.’ To the contrary, as life lurches forward in spite of it all, we don’t really have full control of where we land. As much as I love it here, if money were of no concern I would surely live elsewhere; and have homes in multiple cities so that I could experience the seasons at my leisure.

All this I suppose is to say that I am not dreading per se, but anxiously anticipating that moment mid-January when all at once time smacks you upside the head and you realize, ‘holy shit, it’s fucking winter–how did we get here?’. 

So I will stay as present as possible for the rest of summer and truly enjoy it to the fullest. This used to mean doing the most, being outside the longest, and partying as much as possible. Lately my summer joy comes from cooking in a bikini in my unairconditioned kitchen and really feeling, observing, and cherishing the heat with every wipe of sweat from my brow. It comes in beautiful waves of peace as I breathe in the 95 degree air the consistency of soup. Despite my questionable analogies I do truly and deeply enjoy these moments.

Summer is visceral. There is nowhere to hide. I wear my smallest outfits and rejoice that my body is strong and able to take me places. I walk, I sweat, I burn, I lay still. Maybe this is the secret to summer–laying absolutely still and becoming the observer. Listening to the life around me while I feign death. Pretending like this is better than experiencing the true night of the soul that is winter. The dark and the cold creep into my heart before I even know they are knocking at the door. There is an emptiness and a bleakness that I struggle to find my place within. Glimpses of peace appear here and there in the softness of a fresh snow or the glint of the sun on the ice; the crunch of snowpack underfoot and the biting yet sweet whiff of pine.

As I remember winter with rose-colored glasses I fear I have been looking at it all wrong. Escaping, hiding, cowering in fear. Lots of drinking in dives and shivering miserable outside smoking, craving that stale cigarette smell and talking to strangers under the insidious spell of neon lights, strong drinks, and bad company. Was it Seasonal Affective Disorder, or Alcohol Use Disorder? Most likely a cocktail of both (plus I just hate being cold).

I actually feel excited to experience a sober fall, and I have acknowledged this to my closest friends but to no one else yet. Winter deserves this consideration too. I was inexplicably drawn to the pile of used ice skates at the thrift today. In the same way that I’m excited for pumpkin patches, apple orchards, and hot cider; I am also excited to find my place amongst the winter people. Snowshoeing? Cross-country skiing? Whatever it is, I will seek it. I’ll use all this character I’ve built, I suppose. For now, I let every tiny moment of summer wash over me like cleansing rain.

So long for now,

Hailey <3