I miss winter.
Maybe because I saw this cover on this stupid magazine at my friend's house.
Maybe I miss winter it's because the prospect of 3 more months of summer [without summer vacation] is depressing to me.
I grew up on seasons. Fall in the Northwest was a sight to behold. Trees were metaphorically lit on fire in September and October. Maple trees were the eye candy of foliage.
Then in November, December, and January, the crispness of the morning air was refreshing. There was nothing more scared than warming up for an early morning game on a fog-filled soccer field.
The reality of living in Southern California is that seasons don't exist. Even though I moved to California for school 7 years ago I mourn Fall and Winter every year. I am most angry, bitter, and irritable the week the Santa Ana winds come to town. Not because I have allergies, but because no Halloween weekend should be spent at the beach. It's just not natural.
In looking back at that magazine cover, that is the habitat that I love. Snow. Super cute sweaters. And a Husky dog.
Have you ever woken up to a fresh snowfall? For a moment, the world is silent. I love silence. In my introverted head, a day sitting in front of a fireplace while it snows outside, wearing a soft sweater and drinking a hot mocha without the noise of people is WAY more peaceful than a day at the beach.
I think it's because of the postures taken during those seasons.
From a material wardrobe standpoint, winter clothing is comforting, while summer clothing is exposing. The nature of summer here is that it is hot.
Unless I want to flaunt super attractive armpit stains and back sweat, I cannot wear my faux North face fleece, jeans, and pretend Ugg boots.
Less clothing means more exposure. Insecurity runs rampant in my morning outfit selection process. I try to wear pants as long as possible, I hate tank tops and on the not-so-rare occasion I curse the person that thought inventing the bikini was a genius idea.
Bottom line: I want to wear a sweater. I want to feel water on my face that is not from my betraying tear ducts. I want a big fluffy dog.
Maybe because I saw this cover on this stupid magazine at my friend's house.
[And by stupid, I mean frustratingly amazing because it is an incredible magazine full of inspirational stories and breath-taking photos that aim to start a movement of believing in the beauty of woman hood. If only I could sit around all day and "be inspired" about the art of being a woman...why do I actually have to go out and do the hard work of being that strong, beautiful, inspiring woman]
Maybe I miss winter it's because the prospect of 3 more months of summer [without summer vacation] is depressing to me.
[And by depressing, I mean depressing. Those in the mid-west miss summer. I miss winter. Let's trade...Until I get cold and run out of food from being snowed in and then I'll take my sunshine back. My generation is all about customization. Why can't I customize my weather seasons?]
I grew up on seasons. Fall in the Northwest was a sight to behold. Trees were metaphorically lit on fire in September and October. Maple trees were the eye candy of foliage.
[Maple trees are amazing. Maple bars are delectable. And you can never get enough Maple syrup on your pancakes...James Doscher might be on to something...]
Then in November, December, and January, the crispness of the morning air was refreshing. There was nothing more scared than warming up for an early morning game on a fog-filled soccer field.
[Hypothetically, the looser my muscles were, the less diving on frozen ground would hurt. Hypothetically.]
The reality of living in Southern California is that seasons don't exist. Even though I moved to California for school 7 years ago I mourn Fall and Winter every year. I am most angry, bitter, and irritable the week the Santa Ana winds come to town. Not because I have allergies, but because no Halloween weekend should be spent at the beach. It's just not natural.
In looking back at that magazine cover, that is the habitat that I love. Snow. Super cute sweaters. And a Husky dog.
I want to go to there.
Have you ever woken up to a fresh snowfall? For a moment, the world is silent. I love silence. In my introverted head, a day sitting in front of a fireplace while it snows outside, wearing a soft sweater and drinking a hot mocha without the noise of people is WAY more peaceful than a day at the beach.
I think it's because of the postures taken during those seasons.
From a material wardrobe standpoint, winter clothing is comforting, while summer clothing is exposing. The nature of summer here is that it is hot.
Like grossly, sweaty hot.
Unless I want to flaunt super attractive armpit stains and back sweat, I cannot wear my faux North face fleece, jeans, and pretend Ugg boots.
Less clothing means more exposure. Insecurity runs rampant in my morning outfit selection process. I try to wear pants as long as possible, I hate tank tops and on the not-so-rare occasion I curse the person that thought inventing the bikini was a genius idea.
Clothing is the best way to hide or expose.
Winter clothing says comfort and security.
Summer clothing screams vulnerability and exposure.
More than just weather wise, I feel like I am in a season of constant summer. Constant exposure. Constant vulnerability. Perhaps only to myself. In the past 6 months I have become increasingly aware of "growth areas". Each month adds a new ruler to measure up to.
Self-awareness is a bitch.
[Not only are relationships a mirror into yourself, but they are an extension of yourself. If I was not raw enough, seeing my other scraped and bruised is like taking a razor to my own soul. Too dramatic? Either way, it breaks me to see him broken. And when we are both broken, who is left to pick up the pieces? Maybe that's a place we need to be in. No self-sufficiency and no co-dependence. Another Blog, another day...]
I am left to lay on the beach in a bathing suit that I spend more time checking the neckline on than actually enjoying the fashion of. One thing after another leaves me realizing how far I am from this art of being a beautiful put together woman. On any given day, I can feel beaten down and discouraged, that I'm not doing life right. OR I can feel inspired and confident and ready to dominate life.
On the days when my eyes feel like a rainforest, I long for the comfort of winter. I know exposure leads to awareness, which leads to growth, but growing pains without Kurt Cameron can become weighty at times.
I need a season of refreshment. A season of remembering. A season of hope.
Not a vacation.
A season.
Bottom line: I want to wear a sweater. I want to feel water on my face that is not from my betraying tear ducts. I want a big fluffy dog.
Metaphorically and Literally.
[And metaphors and analogies are only meant to explain part of a situation. Don't rain on my parade by reminding me of the inconvenience of raking leaves, doing my hair when it's raining, or driving in the snow. I will just throw skin cancer and swim suit malfunctions at you!]
