Healing by season

I love seasons. Every season.

And before you get all huffy and tweaky on me, I do realize that California doesn’t have the same sort of seasons as many other places in the world, ok.

I get it. It’s different here, but beautiful in it’s own subtle way.  It’s gentle in it’s reminders. SoCal is  never going to scream ‘WINTER IS HERE!!!’, which I have to say, I really don’t mind. Whispers are fine by me.

As are the 75-degree Saturdays by the pool in February.

Besides that, when I say ‘seasons’ I don’t just mean the weather, thats just part of it really. Seasons signify change and growth and movement, and they never leave us long enough to remain stagnant.  Weather simply reminds us that seasons exist. If the weather never changed, seasons still would I think.

Ever since I was little, I would write down all the parts of the year that I loved, giving me something to look towards and hope for on a continual basis, no matter what was happening around me. Christmas, summers by the pool, all the birds singing in the spring, the rain.  It was generated from a dark time of life, which, I find, is often the soil that yields deep thought and understanding.

Darkness doesn’t always beget darkness, as the old saying goes.

Anyway, I often find myself thinking in this same sort of way on a day to day basis.  What beauty can I look to today?  What brings me life and joy?  There is always something, you know, even in the darkest day.  Sometimes it’s a bit less ‘significant’ yes,  but the whole idea is that it’s not the thing itself, it’s what it represents in our minds. A larger Good that wins in the end.


If you’re sitting there wondering what the hell I’m talking about and contemplating what level of crazy I am, I can’t say I really blame you. While I am an optimist, I also have a rather dark, deeper side to me that I have and always will carry with me.  It’s the part of me that knows the blackness that can live in people, it’s the scars I carry from wounds that I’ll never really forget, and it is that part of me I constantly fight to remain for and with the human race. To not withdraw into the deep dark hole of utter isolation and safety, where the only comfort comes from knowing that love, the same thing that can break my heart, is not allowed in.

After trying out that place and this, I have found the latter worth it a thousand times over.  So I find the sun, I look up to the moon. I cherish the words of a friend and the memory of those I’ve lost.  And I allow myself to love fully, to hope, and to live in and with the fight.

Every season helps me do that in small ways, reflecting light and life when darkness finds her way in. That beautiful siren of the night beckoning me towards a cold and lifeless prison of safety.

I choose the sun, even if her light can burn me.