Here in Brooklyn, it's 63 degrees already, and it's only 10:30 in the morning.
Dare I hope that Spring is here?
It's only early March, and March is a tricky, tricky month-- doling out little bits of Spring and then blanketing the country in icy cold. Maybe. See, we can always hope for the end of Winter, because every once in a while, at least here in New York City, Spring really does start this early. Every once in a while, and that gives us hope.
But, I recognize that it probably won't stick. I will have to ride the rollercoaster of Spring in the city. Just enjoy the highs, and endure the lows.
Actually, I prefer the metaphor of the wave. A lot like life, and learning to ride that wave, you really have to give up control. And it's not just about "enduring" the lows, but about understanding them and accepting them. It's a zen thing, and somehow, it makes me feel like I am closer to life.
I don't know how to surf. I'm such a pale, artsy, city girl-- and if I am in nature, it's more likely the woods that show my character, but I respect the power of the ocean, and the metaphor calls to me.
For instance, sometimes, as a mom, it's just a whirlwind of giggles and songs and dancing and long walks. At other times, and endless stretch of sleepless, cranky crying and yelling (me, not the baby). Sometimes productivity is up, sometimes it devolves into a puddle of couch-potatoness.
But that's okay. It's a part of the process. I don't necessarily believe that those lows are bad, nor should they be eradicated. I'm looking to find the value of the down times. Like sleep is necessary, to recharge the mind and body, to dream. Or like winter is necessary, as a fallow period, life draws back into itself, so that it can be reborn, recharged, renewed.