Random winter Bambi picture
In spite of current, temporary evidence to the contrary, winter has given most of us a pass this year. January meant a string of 50 degree days with not a snowflake in sight. Confused trees are threatening to break their buds. The regional cow smell that heralds a storm's arrival has become a rarity. Winter's just not doing its thing right now.
I know how it feels. For almost a year, I've found myself slowly withdrawing from many of my usual activities. A full season of bike racing was reduced to a select few races then none (yes, you can retire from beginners). Weekly group rides dropped off the calendar. Non-commuting bikes seemed to emerge from the garage for special occasions only. Camping was minimal and nonexistent after summer. Hikes were reserved for holidays. By the time late November hit, I had closed the door and wasn't coming back out unless I needed groceries. If you cease to participate in the things that have defined your life, who are you?
In the last few weeks, in between naps, mindless web surfing and television/movie/book consumption, I have been framing pictures, repairing furniture and making a home for my many books. I am contemplating lighting and cleaning off counters. I have lived in my house for seven years. There are boxes downstairs I have yet to unpack. Perhaps, in my rush to get out into the world, I never really finished moving in. Coming home each day, I see very little in the place that says "I live here." My recent seclusion has reconnected me to the smallest circle of my surroundings and I am finally making an effort to claim it as my own.
When I'll venture back out into the wider world is anybody's guess. I don't think there's really an end point to this nesting thing, but things on the other side of the window inevitably distract me, like these perfect snow flakes that are sticking to it right now. I no longer feel guilty about missing the races and will buy new hiking boots when I am ready to use them. Someone once told me that I'd be better off if I wasn't guided in life by all the things I felt I should do. It's very hard to let go of should. But the bikes are still downstairs and the trails aren't going anywhere. When I want them, they'll be there.
Our coldest, darkest season hasn't earned its reputation this time around. Some have wisely declared it Juneuary. While it may not be what we're used to or what we expected, I guess the most important thing is to make the best of it. If we can find something in it that makes us happy, that should be good enough for now. It could always change tomorrow.
