I had dinner a few nights ago with one of the many people I didn’t see enough of the last few months. Over salads I told her “well, I’ll be seeing you more often now, since I won’t be seasonally depressed”.
It’s not that I can’t function in the winter, but that, like the flowers, I flourish in the spring and summer. When it’s cold out, my body collapses in on itself. When the weather turns warm again my shoulders pull back, my head is held higher, my chest opens and I can breathe.
There’s promise of long evenings of sunlight, of waking up with the sun streaming in my windows, of lazy weekends and the comfort of warmth. There’s hope.
Everything is easier in the springtime.