seasonal (dis)comforts
as a culture, we are well-insulated. we have in-home heating and cooling so we don't really have to experience shifts in the seasons. we also create a lot of distance between ourselves and anything remotely uncomfortable (ranging on the continuum from a tepid latte to death) thus not only lowering our skills in dealing with the adverse but also inadvertently numbing ourselves to the ability to experience joys both large and small (a tragic consequence of selective experience).
life is change. and, since we tend to equate change with loss, i want to propose that change can be the art of difference; contrast, and therefore beautiful.
if things were always the same, the sunshine or snow might mean less. my body knows the change in temperature before it registers with my mind (plus the phrase "barometric pressure" is hardly as poetic as "boston in the fall"). my joints want to do more yoga and i have a sudden urge to stock my pantry with ungodly amounts of nutmeg. not only that, i have to laugh, coming from canada, at how the pacific northwest retail world gets ready for fall: heavy wool ponchos (it doesn't get that cold here) and all manner of suede boots (and hopefully enough waterproofing spray to go along with them?)
and then i wondered, "WWLACD?" (what would lewis and clark do?) this is true seasonality. what they would have given for a home depot or a wilco. i can hear them now, "hey, lewis, there's a buy one get one free sale on carhartt jackets and there's two of us!" or "i have a coupon for as many plastic tarps as we can carry, clark!" we don't have much room to complain in light of oh, early pioneers or arctic explorers. that's an extreme example, of course, but no one can claim they weren't in touch with their surroundings.
who doesn't want the sun on their face? i also want to feel the wind and rain and snow on my face and to feel the seasons on my skin. don't get me wrong, i appreciate comfort and the resources we have. it's just that i don't want to choose comfort over experiencing life first-hand, like being cold at 3 am when i'm looking up at the milky way or the tears that come to my eyes when someone tells me about losing someone they loved.
in a numbing culture, i vastly resonate with the contrasting bulletin board i saw the other day. it shows people laughing and leaning out of a car window with the wind in their hair and reads, "i want to make memories, not just pass the time." sponsored by "be true to you".
being born wasn't designed to be comfortable or second-hand. nor was growing. or aging. and i wouldn't trade any of them for the wide world of joys and comforts that come along with them. spring, summer, autumn, winter. i want to live them all, uninsulated--literally and figuratively--in every season.
life is change. and, since we tend to equate change with loss, i want to propose that change can be the art of difference; contrast, and therefore beautiful.
if things were always the same, the sunshine or snow might mean less. my body knows the change in temperature before it registers with my mind (plus the phrase "barometric pressure" is hardly as poetic as "boston in the fall"). my joints want to do more yoga and i have a sudden urge to stock my pantry with ungodly amounts of nutmeg. not only that, i have to laugh, coming from canada, at how the pacific northwest retail world gets ready for fall: heavy wool ponchos (it doesn't get that cold here) and all manner of suede boots (and hopefully enough waterproofing spray to go along with them?)
and then i wondered, "WWLACD?" (what would lewis and clark do?) this is true seasonality. what they would have given for a home depot or a wilco. i can hear them now, "hey, lewis, there's a buy one get one free sale on carhartt jackets and there's two of us!" or "i have a coupon for as many plastic tarps as we can carry, clark!" we don't have much room to complain in light of oh, early pioneers or arctic explorers. that's an extreme example, of course, but no one can claim they weren't in touch with their surroundings.
who doesn't want the sun on their face? i also want to feel the wind and rain and snow on my face and to feel the seasons on my skin. don't get me wrong, i appreciate comfort and the resources we have. it's just that i don't want to choose comfort over experiencing life first-hand, like being cold at 3 am when i'm looking up at the milky way or the tears that come to my eyes when someone tells me about losing someone they loved.
in a numbing culture, i vastly resonate with the contrasting bulletin board i saw the other day. it shows people laughing and leaning out of a car window with the wind in their hair and reads, "i want to make memories, not just pass the time." sponsored by "be true to you".
being born wasn't designed to be comfortable or second-hand. nor was growing. or aging. and i wouldn't trade any of them for the wide world of joys and comforts that come along with them. spring, summer, autumn, winter. i want to live them all, uninsulated--literally and figuratively--in every season.
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