I love the summer. I love the intensity of the heat and the way it makes me sleepy. I love the way there are pockets of cool. Riding my bike, sweating and straining uphill, I came around this bend, checking to make sure it was the right street, and, suddenly, I was in a pocket of cool underneath the shade of this enormous tree. And just like that it was like every ounce of stress just melted away. Reprieve. Relief. Calm. Deep breath. And then back into the sunshine, a drip coming down my forehead into my eye.
I don't feel quite the same about winter. I've grown to endure it better, to see the beauty in the starkness, to appreciate the dark, the still and the cold. But I don't love it. However, I wouldn't trade it. What I do love is that it passes, that the seasons change and come around again. Now we've travelled 585,331,663 miles around the sun and we're back here to the heat of mid-July again. And each day we're 1,598,400 miles closer to leaves falling and jackets. For now I'm glad it's warm. I'm glad we spend our evenings in our skivvies. I'm glad I can hear the crickets. I kind of hate the birds in the morning, but I love the windows being open and the coolness of the night air.
I want to know the future. I want to know how best to prepare. I do all these stupid things and tell myself all these stupid stories in an effort to prepare myself for worst case scenarios. Somehow, I have this idea that if I think about it, it won't happen. I live with this slight vibration of sheer terror because I know that there is actually no way to prepare. There is no way to know. But I try. I wish I could come to appreciate this feeling instead of hating it. I wish I could treat the anxiety the same as the adrenaline rush you get when body surfing a 6 foot wave at dusk. It's the same I guess. Gravity is whipping us around the sun, tilting the earth, changing seasons. The moon's gravity is pulling the oceans and affecting tides. And we're just hurtling through spacetime with a general idea of the immediate future but really no clue if at the end of the hour we won't end up ground into the sand, choking salt water and struggling to breathe.
And sometimes it's not a difficult event but just the weight of possibility that makes it hard to breathe, all the more now that I have these three little people and Marco whom I love with such massive intensity. And I've turned into this complete control freak. I try to orchestrate bedtimes and meals and make everything go smoothly. I find myself flipping out on Maya for making noise as we try to put the babies to bed. They must sleep. I must sleep. I must have some control over this situation. And I can't control a 2 year old who just wants to shout and jump off the arm of the couch and who needs help on the potty (loudly). It's like I'm choking on my desire for control. Life isn't that hard, but I ruin it with worry. I ruin it with my own fear of what might happen. If they don't sleep and I don't sleep then tomorrow will be horrible and then things will just spiral down into total chaos. So Maya needs to shut up and Elliot needs to go to sleep. And Zoe needs to stop crying. And I need to sleep. I need to sleep. I need to sleep. Now. Jesus, it's exhausting just to think about it.
We're revolving around the sun at 18.5 miles per second. We're spinning on the earth's axis at an astonishing 1000 miles per hour. And even though I've got more mass than I should have, I really have very little gravitational pull on anything. I better just figure out a way to love the uncertainty the way I love the seasons. Oh crap, Elliot just fell off the couch!