Why Don't We Just Go Outside?

The seasons are fixed with the Sun
Just like an old stone that will never be thrown
Soon spring will come
Like a distant object of love
--Roddy Woomble, “Work Like You Can”

It’s starting to get cold.  It’s starting to get dark.

10 PM and it feels like midnight.  I can see the edges of my breath outlined in the weak, orange glow of the streetlight.  My knuckles and ears are cold.  The tip of my nose is probably red.

There’s a difference between a cool day and a cold day, a difference between a slight dip in the temperature and the drop that says it’s fall.  It brings that slight sting, that portent of snow and wind and boots and coats and gloves and hats and trudging, head down, waiting for spring.  It’s a warning, repeated through homes and offices, passed between friends and acquaintances.  It’s going to be cold soon.  It’s going to be winter.  Brace yourself.

It’s true.  Winter’s coming.  But it’s not yet here.  Stop for just a moment.  Stand in the glow of that streetlight, look around.  Breathe that cold air in through your ever-so-slightly runny nose.

Just below that not-quite-biting-cold is the thing that matters.  It’s the smell of dying leaves and the slight undertone of smoke.  Breathe it in.  Drink it in.

It’s fall.

This is the only fall we’ll get.  This is the only moment we’ll get.

Build a fire.  Make some hot cocoa.  Tell some stories.

Breathe deep the leaves and smoke and chill air.

You’ve confused being a pioneer
With hard times
In the end what’s more important
To have toiled
Or to have tried?
I’ll let you decide
--Roddy Woomble, “Make Something Out of What it’s Worth”

I want to say I was wrong.  As I remember it, I was wrong.  But the only record I have of it looks pretty good.  It’s weird, this putting thoughts up on a blog that I do.

I remember thinking that I thought buying a house would make me an adult.  Maybe I did say that somewhere, but not in the place I thought I said it.  That disappoints me.

At least, it disappoints the part of me that takes such great pleasure in berating the past versions of me that seem so dumb in retrospect.

Buying a house is just paperwork.  It’s something I approached the same way I’ve approached any number of other things.  It’s all about budget projections, spreadsheets, appraisals, tax tables, and all those myriad other calculations.  I can do that in my sleep.  I can plug in the numbers and make the decision that makes the most sense.

I’ve been doing that for years.  So either that means I’ve been an adult for years or that there’s nothing to being an adult that’s special.

Why am I not surprised that it all comes down to probably intentionally misremembering as an excuse to be hard on a past version of myself?

You can lie about what you make
You can lie about the risks you take
Surely you can see what’s down the road
If you can’t there’s something you should know

You’ve got to be yourself
You can’t be anyone else
If you can’t be yourself
You’ll be alone
--The Saw Doctors, “Be Yourself”

Did you know that we don’t actually notice everything?  Our brains are actually surprisingly lazy.  They fill most things in from memory.  So you’re not actually seeing your home, your car, your best friend, your spouse.  You’re actually seeing a memory of that person.  You’re not actually driving to work down a road.  You’re driving the memory of that road.

It’s how it’s so easy to zone out, to get to work and think, “Wait.  How did I get here?”

It brings up an interesting implication, too.  Those of us who have never had anorexia or bulimia see someone suffering from that particular disorder and wonder, “How can that poor person not see they’re a walking skeleton?  How do they still think they need to lose weight?”  Perhaps they still see the memory.  Perhaps they can’t escape from a past version of themselves.

What do I see when I look in the mirror?

I fear the answer is as simple as it is terrible: I see the me who was afraid.  I see the me who was a failure.  I see the me who couldn’t imagine having anything to offer to anyone.

I couldn’t see past the memory.

I didn’t want to see past the memory.

It’s easier that way, living in the past.  All you have to do is nothing until the future is somehow magically conferred upon you.  Misery with forlorn anticipation is easier than action and risk, after all.

Even if it’s somewhat less fulfilling.

Abandon your ambitions
You’re overwhelmed
By what you haven’t done
And it doesn’t last forever
Not even the moon and Sun
A new day has begun
--Roddy Woomble, “A New Day has Begun”

Winter’s coming, they say.  It’s bringing the cold and the snow and the drudgery.

But winter’s not here just yet.

All that’s here is today.

All that’s ever will be here is today.

We can’t live in the summer gone, nor the winter to come.

We can only live in this glorious fall.

Breathe deep the leaves and smoke and chill air.

Comments

[Bruce]

Great post. I love fall. The crispness of the air, the colors of change.