In Boston, we often find ourselves trapped in a neverending swirl of flurries and frozen raindrops dusting our eyelids the minute we step out of the door for our first class. It makes the concept of sitting down in a creaky chair to load yourself up with caffeine and scribble down borderline illegible notes all the more exhausting and undesirable. Trudging through the snowed-out Reservoir Quad in boots far too permeable to withstand the seeping water, I questioned just what level of seasonal discontent I was willing to put up with to continue my status as a student and a functioning human being.
It seriously weighs you down. Staring out your window every day and seeing nothing but gray skies saying, ‘just carry on for a few more months, and it’ll get better,’ is a sorrowful feeling. I can't. I love the sensation of little flurries falling upon my skin and watching them melt into the fur on my coat. But it’s April now, and I’ve had enough.
I’m not a wimp, either. I’m not sure why I feel the need to defend myself when it comes to complaining about the weather, but I’m a Chicagoan born and raised — I’ve felt really cold, and I’ve seen snow in May. It’s been nearly two decades now, and the cold never ceases to wear me down. At first, it's fun: building snowmen and bundling up with holiday music and sledding. Give it a few months, and it’s full-blown seasonal depression.
The other day something magical happened in Boston — it was actually really nice outside. It felt like the perfect beach day, with the sun shining and an oceanlike breeze blowing. It felt like, for the first time in a long time, that things are quite alright! To many more days like that!
I swear, when the flowers start blooming, it’s like the sun has a mind of its own, and it knows that we need her to shine down even more. Ok, maybe not; after all, I’ve now taken Big Bang to Humankind and Concepts of the Cosmos, so I have a basic understanding of how seasons work, but they still amaze me.
“I feel like when spring comes, so does my happiness,” a friend told me.
She's right, and there’s got to be some science behind that, but I'm an English major, so I don’t care to get into the specifics. I’ll leave it up to yet another mystery of everyday life. All I know is that we all need some spring.
