25 degrees

I live in a place of extremes.
This last week, my city had the distinction of being the second coldest place on the planet.
It has since warmed up by 25 degrees.
It is a welcome relief to finally have the walls stop snapping and the fog caused by exhaust sitting in the air dissipate. Still, I’m finding it difficult to figure out how Mother Nature wants me to behave. Do I wear wool or cotton? At night do I keep handy a heating pad or fan? Warm soup for supper or a refreshingly crisp salad?
And although I’ve gotten used to these extremes (albeit I find them somewhat annoying), I still look forward to peaceful spans of continuity and predictability.
In fact, sometimes, I long for them.
I’m not really talking about the weather. But, we all know, talk of the weather is usually a disguise for something else.
Something deeper.
Extremes in life are difficult.
Those surges of maniacal frenzy that occur at work no matter how diligently you measure yourself.
You plan and pace with perfect practicality, but they always seem to swirl upon you, and you fight to keep your nose above the swell. You usually do,
but not without the sleepless nights, moments of panic, and “medicinal” pouring of wine.
Or relationships where you are besieged by attention and obligation, sometimes welcome, other times…
not so much.
Days where you see and talk to no one about anything of significance and long for a passionate and intellectual conversation peppered with emotion,
you are emotionally and mentally drained and want to crawl into a hermit hole and watch all the extended versions of the Lord of the Rings Trilogy
in one sitting.
I guess it’s true. Life is filled with ebb and flow. And we can’t appreciate certain moments unless we’ve experienced their opposite.
You can’t breathe a sigh of relief during the holiday unless you’ve lived through the chaos at work.
You can’t KNOW happiness unless your heart has been broken.

Life is all about 25 degrees of separation.

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