I have lived the past 28 years of my life in the dry and arid southwest. I even had a few brief flirtations with the desert before that, which would bring the grand total to about 33 years of desert dwelling. Chapped lips, never-ending sun, dry skin, bleached hair and cracked heels; this was the norm for many seasons of long and dry summers. I had 2 kinds of shoes; flip-flops and sandals. I had only one lightweight coat for when the temps dipped below 60. Shorts, capris, skirts with lightweight shirts were my complete wardrobe. Ok, I lie. I had a few pairs of jeans for the winter and for camping.
The catch was, I began to hate summers. Well, to be honest, I only hated the desert summers. And that wasn't just during the day. Like when the temperatures soared past 108 degrees for a full 30 days, or when it never cooled down lower than 90 degrees at night, or when going shopping meant you’d at one point have to get into a car that was a blistering 150 degrees or higher inside, or barefoot walking on the concrete meant blisters for a week, or you had to choose between letting your veggie garden die or stand out and fry your buns while watering it each day. And there is SOOO much more. Summers at the beach were divine. Summers spent at a mountain cabin were glorious. But I could never assign the adjectives, “divine” and “glorious” to an Arizona, or a Utah desert summer. I loved the landscapes, but the weather withered my bones. Or the stuff on my bones.
Which brings me to this moment in time. We left southern Utah at the end of August after packing a motorhome and a moving van with ourselves, our cats, and all our possession and moved to Northern California. (Please, never call California, “Cali”. It’s rather annoying and I believe it only refers to southern California. A different state altogether.)
We arrived in September just in time for a beautiful and glorious fall. (there’s that ‘glorious’ word again) It was truly lovely. Dry, warm, but cool at night. Soon the days became cooler. I was great with that. I could be outside ALL day and not feel like I was being cooked alive. I loved it. Did I mention it was GLOR-I-OUS??
Then came winter.
It roared in like lion with rain and crazy winds. And then we’d have a few nice days. Then more roaring. And then the snow started. And it kept coming.
And the rains came down and the floods came up. More snow. Then more “torrential rains” (according to the weatherman). And more flooding. And wind. And more rain. Our yard turned into a lake with a river. A large (REALLY LARGE) tree blew down narrowly missing our home. And more rain and snow is predicted.
*Be careful what you wish for. You just might get it.*
A few days ago we had some sunshine. I was ecstatic. I spent all the time I could spare in the sun. I walked. I shoveled. I read a book in it. I explored. And I’m pretty sure it’s the same sun that was baking southern Utah to a crisp just 6 months ago.
But instead of hating it, I was reveling in it. I couldn’t get enough. I. Had. Missed. It. There. I said it. My shameful secret was out. I really did love the sunshine. I had missed it like a dear and loving friend. I was done with the rain and the snow and the clouds. But, then….
Last week I saw a double rainbow. Twice. And, as I was sitting in the jeep, waiting to meet someone and not looking at my phone, but at the rainbows, I began to ponder on this puzzling turn of events. How human it is, how like us all, to never be happy with where we are and what we have. Too much sunshine? Yuck; we hate it. It’s too hot … waahaahaa! OR…. Too much snow/rain? Ugh! We are so tired of it. I can never get warm! (somebody call the Whaahaa-ambulance!) We are never happy with where we are, unless things are just perfect.
But, here's the clincher. This type of perfection is subjective. We are the one who decides what is perfect for us. Us and us alone. No one else decides that for us. At least, they’d better not. In other words, “perfection” doesn’t always mean things have to be “perfect”. So, I can decide that right now, right where I am, is just right; the weather is just right; the amount of solitude is just right; the kind of house I live in is just right (you get the idea), OR, I can decide to always want what I don't have and be unhappy about where I am. Key words? I CAN DECIDE.
No comments:
Post a Comment