This weather is really freaking me out guys. For those of you who don’t live in the Northeastern part of the United States (Hi mom! Hi dad!), you’ll just have to trust me. Its November – the month that was made for Pumpkin Spice Lattes, scarves and sweaters, boots, tea and pie and blankets reading in a comfy chair while the wind rages outside.
Except its been too warm to really enjoy a hot PSL, I haven’t used any of my scarves in the past two weeks, and I’ve been doing most of my reading on the bus. Today, the first thing I did when I got up, after I turned off my window unit air conditioner, was step outside onto our balcony. It’s been in the mid 60s and my Toms have holes in them and the wind is sharp and warm with anxiety.
It feels like middle school, or the last few weeks before graduation. It’s a holding pattern. A waiting game. I spent all summer in a state of stillness, too hot to get worked up, to uncertain to make any decisions. June was a month of cocktails, and July a month of working. In August I was supposed to learn how to be an independent person. Perhaps the nervous wind and the sly warmth in the air are trying to remind me that I haven’t figured it out yet. All fall I’ve had this song lyric stuck in my head – they say that autumns in New England are the greatest of them all, but give me sweet Virginia for the fireworks of fall. I miss home a little. And I keep having to remind myself that I really, really don’t live there anymore.
There is a strong part of me that is desperate to enjoy this extended transition from summer to winter. It’s the same part of me that remembers the sheer absurdity of last winter’s snow. I like having the windows open. I’m secretly outdoorsy and I like that I can breathe fresh air, that the world is bigger than my admittedly large apartment.
If beauty is in the eye of the beholder, however, then so must be whatever aesthetic quality I’ve assigned to this odd, unsettling autumn. Maybe it’s that I am also in the world’s longest transition period, and I still haven’t figured out what I’m going to do when I get out of it. It’s not bothering me, per se, but its there, and it feels like an opportunity that I have a responsibility to make the most of.
So the weather and I wait together, holding on to comfortable temperatures and comfortable patterns as long as possible, but always with change and decisions and upheaval hovering on the edge, waiting for us as we wait for them.
Or maybe its just global climate change and the world’s gonna end before we get there.