February 14, 2011

Moonlight, sunshine and perpetual blabbering on the same sorry topics

Last night's post was honest, but I don't want to end my thought there.

Today, though patchy blankets of snow still cover Lincoln's yards and sidewalks, spring-like temperatures and full sunshine have me feeling more optimistic today. It must be a primal human instinct to rejoice at the coming of warmer weather. Especially in the depths of January, I often wonder if I will survive the winter. Physically, of course, but also emotionally. Of course John Mayer wrote an entire song about this desperation and the relationships it often creates titled, "St. Patrick's Day." But neither of my boyfriends are the subject of this post.

I escaped the hardest part of winter last year. I went from blizzard to heat stroke in 40 hours. I missed the rebirth of the Prairie and I lost a good friend. It was a tough transition. It's like tossing a frozen turkey into the deep-fryer--you'll ruin your kitchen and Thanksgiving for everyone. Spring is our time to thaw out before summer.

When I poke around on Facebook, I always come across old friends who are living the dream I thought I had a few years ago--i.e. living abroad, going on crazy adventures abroad, staring on episodes of Locked Up Abroad... etc. I realize that comparing myself to other people is counterproductive, but I do it. I often feel like I wussed out of something when I left Cambodia, an unfair assessment that may haunt me forever (feel like you've read this post before? I do.). One of my childhood friends is in the Peace Corps teaching English on some isolated mountain in Rwanda. It sounds like she loves it and that she is really good at what she's doing there. That's a tough and unfair comparison. I'm working on appreciating the choices I make, and accepting myself as a whole person. I see that life isn't a perfect series. Everything that I want to happen may not happen in the order I thought, or it may not happen at all. But in all that mess, I suppose there is a beauty: taking my brother to school, rediscovering my hometown, gaining control of my love life.

I read this quote in a magazine.

Although the wind blows terribly here,
the moonlight also leaks
between the roofplanks
of this ruined house.

A Japanese woman wrote this in the 11th century. Times were probably tough, but she found the beauty of her situation. She never knew the Nebraskan Prairie winds, but I imagine she also never had a furnace.

My favorite part of this poem is that it makes me want to stop whining for a few minutes and enjoy the sunshine.