Winter is here. The chill is worming its way through my layers, settling in my hands and feet, making me constantly rub my hands together. I feel myself wanting what I want every winter-mulled wine, driving around at night looking at Christmas lights, and more than anything else to not feel depressed because of the way winter makes me feel. Every morning I turn on my nature bright lamp, blink at the 17000 Kelvin block of light in front of me and remind myself of happy things. I listen to Charlie Brown Christmas music and think about being with my family and Jordan for the holidays, of fires in the fireplace and white chocolate peppermint bark and finding the perfect gifts for everyone. I crave days to myself without having to do anything but be with who I want when I want. The little blocks of my planner contain my scrawl of numbers and names and times and things to do and places to be. The thought of that, always being responsible for something, makes me wish I ran again. I miss that feeling of putting miles beneath my feet, the way I breathed deep with my mouth closed like I was taught, floating through the air like a fish through water-easy. I miss the way it made my brain stop buzzing so much, the beehive in my brain quieting as if calmed by smoke. Maybe I’ll find time again, but that’s been hard these days.
I’m trying to be present in whatever moment I find myself in, and be thankful for the people around me who make the day-to-day a content, happy place.