No cats harmed in the making of this photo. Only couches.

February 6, 2022

I used to think that I hated February, but then I moved 300 miles north and encountered March. A short month of predictable cold, I learned, beats a month of expecting warmth and continually getting my hopes crushed.

This year, though, I find myself already anticipating spring. The longer days and greater frequency of bird songs are clear signs of change to me. While I’d like to say I’ve grown more attuned to nature, I’ve really just been spending more time looking out the window. The result is the same.

It’s no secret that I hold prejudices against certain months, on this blog and elsewhere. But I also have the capacity to hope. There’s at least one instance in my journals from those years up north when I headlined a January entry with, “Spring!”. And even now, the plastic comes off of my windows on the first day of March – no exceptions.

Of course, it’s all about what you value in a situation. I often equate cold weather with isolation and an inability to enjoy the outdoors. But from another vantage, the cold means I can get comfortable indoors while not having many demands on my time. People who love snow sports might even prefer the winter months (the horror!). I resolve to start appreciating each month for what it is — for the joy it brings — and not for how much closer it gets me to another month I think I’ll like better.

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