Here is what I can tell you: if you do not have to endure January in Michigan or some other horrifically cold mess, then that is one thing that you have going for you.
When I wake up in the morning, I dread getting out of bed because I am cold. When I get up and turn up the heat while thinking with anxiety about the bill, I dread going outside. Then, when I recall how miserable it feels to be inside all of the time, I trudge outside. At this point, I instantly freeze which instinctively makes me want to cry. Then, I start driving. Everything is slippery. I work and work and every time somebody opens the door, I brace myself for another unpleasant blast of cold air. Doors open all day.
I try to take my trash out before it gets dark, but it is often dark before I get home from work. Once it is dark and cold and wet, it has reached a point that causes me so much unhappiness that I want to find a way to shut it all out. I start counting and recounting the number of weeks until there might be notable warming and increase in sunshine.
This is winter. This is Michigan. And here I am.
I don’t think that I should live here, but I do. I persist because I cannot reasonably figure out a way to escape. I am here by default. Too broke to leave.
And, in some awful way, it seems like a metaphor for something larger.
Maybe this all sounds sad to you, and I would be lying if I said that there was no sadness in it. However, I also assume this is common. Who is the person who is living the life that feels right or somehow destined? Who is the person who wakes and feels they are in the right space? For a time, I felt it. For a time, it was different. My instinct is to call it temporary, but let’s call it seasonal.