Sometimes I wonder if it’s possible to have seasonal depression, during every season that isn’t fall.
I know it’s there in summer. The constant sun and heat has the completely opposite effect on me than it has on most people. It makes me miserable; its only redeeming quality being the fact that it’s the last stepping stone til fall.
It’s a different kind of feeling though, as the winter comes. I don’t necessarily have a problem with the cold weather. I prefer it, any day, over the heat. But still, there is something so saddening, as November tapers off into December, taking with it the last remnants of autumnal comfort.
I hated November so much when I was younger. I would draw big X’s through the O’s on my calendars and planner pads. I treated it as if it were unspeakably horrible, and perhaps the first of the month still is. But once I confront the petulant bully that is November 1st, and put it in its place, just a box on the calendar, it’s as if the rest of the month relaxes and suddenly reveals itself to me. It may not be October, it may not be the same as knowing that Halloween is on the way, very soon, but it is a beautiful time to reflect.
When December comes, I feel defeated. I can no longer fight the onslaught of Christmas and winter holidays…the things I would rather pretend don’t exist at this stage of my life. It’s in my face and there’s little I can do about it, especially with a retail job. The last of the decorations disappear from the outside world, and everything transforms into something that maybe I should find beautiful, but don’t anymore. As I said in my previous piece of writing, Christmas lights are so manufactured compared to the natural beauty of autumn.
As winter presses on, I feel a sense of hopelessness as dirty patches of snow line the streets, and the days feel longer despite daylight saving being a couple of months away. I feel like I can’t move forward, and am never getting any closer to the next Halloween. It’s hard to explain, but it feels like Halloween just passed and was ages ago, all at once.
Spring arrives with the promise of a halfway point. The only other “in between” season, where it’s not too cold but not summertime hot, I try to enjoy it while it’s here, though even on its best weather days, it can’t compete with fall. I often stare up at the leaves, once they bloom again, and imagine what they’ll look like when the time comes for them to die. Maybe it’s awful to be anticipating something’s death at the very moment it is reborn, but seeing the leaves again gives me the hope I need, the reassurance that they will change color and fall to the ground once more, and everything will be as I want it to be. Somehow it will feel much shorter than the time the leaves are green, though.
Summer may be the worst part of all, bringing the weather I loathe and also teasing me with promises of fall, while I’m still hearing “too early” at every turn. Nonetheless, I will walk with my head held high, arms full of decor in the craft stores in June and July and finally August when it seems like all the stores start to get on board and the pop-up shops open again, and the wind whispers “It’s coming!”
Because it is coming. It’s always coming.
But I don’t think it ever feels quite as far away as it does on this day, the last day of November. The final goodbye of the official fall season, not to be seen again until next year.
Comments
Post a Comment