I hate driving home from work in the winter. Or rather, I hate how the drive becomes a drive home in the winter, as the light gradually fades from day to day, like a dying campfire, until the sky bruises into an ugly purple and eventually turns oil black. In the summer I barrel down the freeway; in the winter I slog through shadows. Voices whisper to me: You’re done. You’re going home. Watch some TV, maybe read, but don’t go anywhere. Don’t see a friend. Don’t go to the gym. Lie down. Play dead. You’re done. You’re done. You’re done.
“Shut up,” I say, “I don’t have to listen to you.”
But everyone else is listening to us.
And it’s true. I turn from side to side and I see my fellow commuters, their faces green from dashboard lights, and no one sings despite the fact that we’re almost invisible to each other. This is the perfect opportunity to sing! Even the shyest among us can belt out tunes in the cover of darkness. We could roll down our windows and exchange favorite songs. Right now, for example, I could do Belle and Sebastian’s “I Fought in a War.” And you sir? Classical music? That’s fine; let us hear you hum Berlioz. Do it “LA-LA-LA” style so we can all hear it over the sounds of our engines. Or we could all join forces and do a Barbershop’s Quartet, a perfect, egalitarian team of Civic, Camry, Ford, and BMW racing together down highway 580.
But the darkness confounds our intentions, saps our energy, and leaves us voiceless. We’re tricked into believing that we won’t live again until the morning--but even the new day offers few opportunities because it’s bookended by darkness, broken up only by hours of fluorescent lights, meeting requests, and bitter coffee.
I’d like to say that I have something inspirational to close this with, some tried-and-true method for defeating defeatism. And of course, one does things even in the winter; I’m simply saying that in order to do so, the deck is stacked and you have to fight to beat the odds. It’s inescapable. But I can say that around this time of year, you begin to see the oil black turn swirly with purples and blues, and you know that time is suddenly on your side again, and eventually the shadows will slither away. Soon you can leave work and drive off into a blinding brightness. You can go running or eat at a new restaurant and--this is the weird thing--stay out after dark gladly, because staying up late on a hot night is like a comforting embrace, whereas staying up on a cold night is like a hard slap. And new voices start whispering to you, soothing ones, and they tell you: “You’re free, don’t go home, come play, come play, you’re just getting started, you’re going places, come play, come play, come play.” And you say “Wait just one moment and I’ll be right with you. I’m examining winter’s corpse and making sure it’s good and dead and won’t come back until it’s supposed to, because the last thing I need is the lights going out in the middle of April.”
SAD = Seasonal Affective Disorder. Best treated with w (in moderation), w (no limits), and song.
My, my. Flex those literary muscles, why don’t you? I knew you were strong, but I had no idea you were ripped.
I think I’m actually drooling.
wait a minute. don’t you live in california? you should hear those voices when their breath makes your snot freeze. after they say “don’t go home,” they add, “you’ll freeze to death on the way.”
I was JUST going to say exactly what Bryan just said. Quit yer bitchin’, Howard, and come join us in the Arctic sometime to see what winter is about.
(Did that sound mean? I still love you Greg!)
Dammit, funny, cute AND he can write for real? Oh, that’s just not fair.
And I DO agree with Bryan and Ismat - you low down dirty dog, come feel winter’s brutal wrath like we East Coasters have been. Then, you can complain about it!
You can all shut up. I spent seven years in Boston. Part of this entry was thinking about those days. (Not that I don’t love Boston. But the winters? Not so much.)
Yeah, but memory + being right in the middle of a 3 week ultra-freeze with no end in sight? = Not the same thing.
I think we’re all just a little oversensitive over here, what with our frozen skin falling off in bits and pieces and our spilled coffee freezing right onto our winter coat in the time it takes to hit the fabric, and so on.
That was a real purty post, though.
Aww, if “Geese Aplenty” were Pinocchio, it just turned into a real boy. No, wait, Greg just saved his blog from a whale of a ... drat.
Okay, someone stopped getting splinters tonight. How’s that?
You’re my hero. I think you just saved me from quitting my job and moving to Baja permanently. There will be light again.....
actually, i like the eeriness of cold blank winter evenings sometimes. the shroud of darkness can seem deliciously mysterious, even subtly deviant.
frostbite is the obvious downside.
I agree with Kate.
Winter nights are some of the most memorable ... when else can you go ice skating outdoors followed with imbibing gallons of Irish coffees?
And - hello? There’s always the Oscars and SUPERBOWL??????
man, you nailed it. and i’ve always had a bitter little appreciation for the fact that Seasonal Affective Disorder spells what it feels like. those clever science types.
nice post, monsieur howard.
Dang, that’s good shit. I live for the light to return.
I’m torn. On the one hand, that was beautifully written. But I have to go with the others.. California doesn’t HAVE winter. If I can walk outside without a jacket, it’s not depressing enough to keep me from going out.
As a lifelong Californian, I’d just like to appreciate that the seasonal changes do affect a person profoundly. I too think it’s a light thing. I used to prefer the winter. As I get older, I value the sun on my hermit’s face.
That was a great post, no matter where you live. In fact, some say that you can’t really write about an experience until you aren’t in it anymore. So just tell all the haters “Neener neener neener.”
Preferably while holding your thumbs to your ears and wiggling your fingers at them.