Too Darn Hot

When I lived in Seattle, I used to pine for the coming of summer as early as December.  By March, I would be desperately trying to wear my blue and white polka dot summer dress, layered over leggings, smart wool socks, and slippers. We would still have the heat turned on to stave off the chill of a rainy spring, and I have a distinct memory of my roommate Kyle yelling to me, "Lindsey, it's too early for summer dresses! Give up the ghost!"  

In high school my friend Annie and I would go outside in the summer to get "sun drunk." There was no alcohol involved, we would just find a field to lay in and let the Northern sun bake us until we felt tipsy and relaxed.

About two and a half years ago I moved to Austin, Texas, and although my seasonal depression has definitely improved, I went from craving the August sun to feeling like I am living in the apocalypse.  

I have mentioned this before, but it bears repeating.  Summer in Austin is like winter in Seattle.  I drink too much beer, stay inside, watch movies, and feel trapped in the house.  Much like February in Seattle, by the time August rolls around I think everyone is feeling a bit stir crazy due to the weather. 

My gardening experiment has all but failed, save for the fig tree I water every morning, a scraggly basil plant and some rosemary.

I try to run in the mornings or at night, but the past few weeks I can barely drag my shoes on, much less convince my body to launch myself through the neighborhood, dripping sweat from every crack and pore. 

It's easier to throw on a dress, stuff dog treats in my pocket, and wander around with Guthrie like a thirsty zombie at 9 in the morning before wandering back to the house to shower and change my clothes. 

I'm like a grumpy vampire that stayed up all night and resents the dawn.

Don't get me wrong, I am not about to pack my bags and head home to the certain hell that is 6 months of rain. There is so much I still love about living here: the sounds of the bugs, the smell of the trees, the big sky, my boyfriend and my dog, tacos and polka music, church picnics and Lyle Lovett.

You know he was a famous song in which he sings, "That's right, you're not from Texas, but Texas wants you anyway."  

I fielded a lot of questions about my choice to move when I was home this summer.  Friends asking if I like it, if I'll move back to Seattle, etc.  Coming home brings up complicated feelings- my gut told me I needed a change of scene, and although I absolutely miss my parents, sisters, and friends, I have a deep sense that allowing myself new, unknown experiences in a wildly different state has done me a world of good.

Knowing that didn't seem to help avoiding a small mental health crises when I returned to hot Austin. I talked about losing my marbles in my last post- I feel like upon coming back I had a whole train full of marbles that has briefly derailed, and I am doing my best to get back on track.

For those of us who live in Austin- cut yourself a break.  Let's be real here, guys.  August is not the time for making big plans or ruminating on the purpose of life.  It's a time to hunker down, take good care, and pray for the fever heat to break.  

I found this quote by Rachel Naomi Remen, in her book "My Grandfather's Blessings." 

" . . . it seems to me that knowing where we are going encourages us to stop seeing and hearing and allows us to fall asleep. In fact, when I find myself on such a direct path, a part of me rushes ahead toward the front door the moment I see it. As I hurry to overtake this part, I usually do not really see anything that I pass.

        Not knowing where you are going creates more the uncertainty; it fosters a sense of aliveness, an appreciation of the particulars around you.

        In fact, perhaps we only think we know where we are going as all the while we are really going somewhere quite different. I have done many things in order to achieve a valued goal only to discover in time that the real goal my choices have led me toward is something else entirely. Something I could not even have known existed when I first set foot upon the path. The purpose underlying life often wears the mask of whatever has our attention at the time. The very reason we were born, our greatest blessing, or our way to serve may come into our lives looking like a new car, a chance to travel, or a cup of the finest coffee. 

        The truth is that we are always moving toward mystery and so we are far closer to what is real when we do not see our destination."

Although we don't all live in the same city, I think many of us are in the same boat.  I am going to do my best go collect my marbles and my train cars, be kind to myself, and remember that life is a process, and one of these days we will get a good hard rain.  

And when the uncertainty and clattering of thoughts become too pervasive- do as Guthrie does. Find a soft spot, cuddle with some pillows, and take a rest.

I did not put that pillow there, I found him just like that. :)