The winters get long here. They’re lovely, serene and the depths of silence and snow hug you close through the cold stages and allow you to center yourself. The food is hot and nourishes the depths of your ever expanding winter belly. In some ways, we hibernate; like the bears we get silent and still and warm and fat. We find ways to survive the seemingly endless winter months, entertaining ourselves with the temporary pleasures of snow games and exploration. Then comes a point where the patience begins to wane and we start planning for spring, pretending we’re closer than we really are: Garden plotting, seed starting, hatching eggs, maintenance and renovation plans, fishing trips, camping goals and the dream of diving off logs into the cool crisp lakes. Wanting to stretch in the springtime sun as we emerge from our cocoon, refreshed and ready to take on the real new year.
This moment however, is the hardest part of winter. When the warmth and brightness of spring begins to tease you and torment the soul you didn’t know was desperate. It’s a time to feel lost and lonely within yourself. Your ideas and effort are spent, the novelty of snow men, snowmobiles, snowshoeing and winter games have worn off, the holiday glow is long forgotten, and you’re desperate for change.
This is when I start to feel unsatisfied with who I am and what I’m doing. The big questions start rolling in: Why? Who am I? Other than a mother and a motivator for this stunning life we live, who am I? On the rare occasion that I walk alone, how is it I can’t talk to myself anymore? I’ve lost my inner voice, my constant. What do I need to do in order to find her again?
I sit with a coffee staring at the beauty and grandeur of where I live, truly grateful for the luxury and a little guilty that at that moment I want more. Even though the days are getting longer and warmer something makes them drag on, for it’s still not enough. I long for the grass on my toes and the dirt between my fingers. I long for the blue glow from the TV to disappear. I long to sit on the deck with my love and drink whiskey while we stare at the sky, contemplating whether the city lights or the stars are further away.
So here’s a toast, to you and to me. A toast to the last stretch of winter and the sneaky arrival of spring. A toast for all of our desperate souls that seem to run out of patience and sink into despair at the same time every year. We’re almost there and it will be just as glorious as every single spring before.