It's Over

That's it. February of 2019 is over. Every year, for as long as I can remember, I embrace February 1st with considerable optimism.  I swear to myself that I am going to surrender and settle into the coziness of the long, dark winter nights. I vow to start and complete a substantial indoor house project, plant seedlings, read a book a week.

As usual, it didn't go as planned. The high I was feeling after a late January trip to sunny California lasted only about a week. Then I fell right into my battle with February. By the 22nd, it was a full-on war, and I was losing. No downstairs molding or trim got painted. The only seedlings growing were on someone else's Pinterest page. I started Wuthering Heights 4 times and never made it past Chapter 7.

I took Vitamin D, juiced green vegetables, went to yoga, met friends out for dinner and still felt like I couldn't maneuver past my foggy February brain. I could sleep at any given moment for eight straight hours and still want more. I dreamed of snow days that never came and drove back and forth to work every Monday through Friday. My life, it's not hard. So, why are these 28 days so exhausting? Why do my legs feel like they're filled with cement in February? Why can’t I get one thing done?
I didn't even eat any ice cream this year. And all that green juice? I was so hopeful this February was going to be different.

Today I'm going to copy and paste all the things from my February to-do list to March. The forecast for the weeks ahead looks cold and snowy, but somehow March has a promising ring to it. The days are getting longer. The chances of seeing a dry patch of pavement are excellent. I'm feeling lighter already.

Adios February. My fleece pajamas and I will try winning the battle with you again next year.

A Valentines Day Love Letter

I planted an Amaryllis bulb New Years Day. This past week I've watched it start to bloom. This morning, on Valentines Day, it's all the way open, and its bright red petals are spectacular.

I'm opening up a little bit more each day too, to the possibility that there might be someone out there that I could love.
Or want to date.
Or talk about my day with.
I've tried a little. Not too hard. I'd say I average a solid B minus for effort.

I see my pattern of behavior. I get annoyed and tire quickly at the end of the day. I smile, nod my head politely to something I am half listening to while willing him out of my house with my eyes after a short time, wondering if he would get the hint faster if I just opened the door and threw his shoes and car keys out on the lawn.

I tell myself not to get discouraged. I promise to try again but need a minute to think about you. About you and me. What worked. What didn't. I take notes. I doodle little hearts and flowers around the border of a piece of paper that I throw in the garbage. I Marie Kondo the house. Make tidy rows of carefully folded socks. The closet is all mine.

Sharing the same house.
Half of the couch.
Half of the bed.
Half of a bagel.
I've witnessed couples doing this for years on end and they still seem to be smitten with each other.
Would anyone ever say out loud that they found the mere sound of their partners breathing to be loathsome? Could you say "I love you, but loving you every day, forever seems like such a long time at the moment. Could you please leave the room for a while so that I might have the chance to miss you?"  Or do you smile and nod and will them with your eyes to please stop their nose from making that horrible whistling noise so that you never hurt their feelings.

I know how lucky I am. I have so much gratitude for a fresh start every single day that I wake up. It's another chance to do better.
Laugh.
Love.
Learn something.

Every once in a while in Upstate New York, the sun shines on my face, and I can feel the place in my heart that brightens at the possibility of you.
You.
Whoever you are.
Where ever you are.

So, cheers to Valentines Day. I am sitting at an unapologetic table for one with a bouquet of pink and white glitter hearts and a flickering votive candle. I'm not disappointed. It smells like cupcakes and possibilities.

I don't feel red and flashy like my Amaryllis, but I'm opening up a little bit more each day to the possibility of you.

Happy Valentines Day.