To say it’s miserable outside (it’s Monday as I write this) is an understatement. The wind was already blowing when I got up, a precursor to colder than usual temperatures coming to us for the rest of this week.
Despite the fact that I get up and run and run the dogs each morning, plus swim outside five mornings a week (in a toasty pool), I don’t like the cold. I really didn’t want to go to the pool this morning, but I knew I really didn’t have a reason not to do it. Just because the wind is blowing isn’t a good enough reason. Nor is the cold. Ice is another story, but there’s no ice today or probably this week either.
I had to be outside.
I don’t like January. Or February. Or March for that matter, but at least it’s usually warming up by then. I don’t like these months because they typically mean we’re bundled up inside. I don’t believe it’s cabin fever I get so much as I need to be outside, to be reminded of what’s bigger than me, to see the stars, the moon, and the planets, that always seem more visible in these months. And to see the changing seasons.
You might say I need that change of scenery and the cold air to remind me that I’m alive.
Obviously, that doesn’t mean I won’t complain about it, but I’ll do it anyway. Life is too short to stay inside. I know if I don’t go I’ll regret staying home, but if I stay home, I’ll regret not going.