Thursday, February 25, 2016
Why February is the Loneliest Month
On Monday I took the longer way home, bypassing the street that leads to my door and looping one block over. I traipsed heavy-footed in my industrial boots across snow that had been packed down to thick patches of ice. Salty cars soldiered bleary-eyed to work and the occasional semi-truck heaved its way north. At twenty minutes to eight, I told myself no one cared that I was basically still in my PJs, with yesterday’s stubborn eyeliner still smudged around my eyes and settling into the lines I’d rather ignore. I took a swig of my morning cup of denial and swallowed it down. I’m basically invisible right now.
Crouching down to sidewalk level, I tried to find something beautiful between the brittle skeletons of last year’s glory and the snow, snow, snow.
I did my best to strong-arm February into a more manageable, classic kind of lovely, but everything seemed a bit grubby and sad. It was years ago that I learned to truly see my world through the lens of a camera. The revelation left me wondering how I’d managed to live more than than thirty years with 20/20 vision, yet half-blind.
I might see more clearly now, but when both the life and the landscape look empty I tend to feel stuck. I walked the rest of the way home with my phone zipped inside my pocket. There’s no story here. My optimistic edges receded back to a dusky blue. Click here to continue reading.