Fall in Fairbanks is the kind of season that runs by at warp speed. Blink and you miss it, take a nap and when you wake up you're well into winter.
Just days ago it was pleasant fall and now it is biting, ominous chilly fall. Weeks ago it was summer and sunshine and oh-my-God-it's-so-hot-I'm-dying temperatures (i.e. 75 degrees Fahrenheit--so I have a low heat tolerance, sue me). I semi-seriously joked all summer that I wished it was winter. Now it's almost winter, and I'm kicking myself for sweating the summer away.
To be honest though, I've missed the snow. Anyone who spent a modicum of time with me last year can attest to my weirdly large love of Alaska. I'm not particularly into winter sports or cold weather activities, so it doesn't make sense to me either. But I've heard from rom-coms that the truest loves make the least amount of sense.
Really, I've moved around enough to know that my soul belongs in the snow. Or in Jordan. Or, to be honest, a large number of places. But I'm making a concerted effort to stop writing about my aching wanderlust, so this thought ends here. (Per Valerie's feedback, "no, I mean, your blog is still good. You should just stop writing about how much you miss Jordan.")
I keep meaning to stop when I'm walking through the woods to get back home. The leaves are turning more yellow every hour and the ground coverings are a brilliant red. But there are articles to edit and math homework to finish and lunch to eat and reading for classes to blow off and the internet to surf and lap swim to make it to and a radio show to put together and texts to guiltily not answer (sorry, guys), so I keep walking. I tell myself that one day my life will calm down. It might.
I'm writing for writing's sake. It's been a challenging few months since I've been home, but the one thing I can do is put one word after the other. Sometimes I forget that, but I'm trying not to these days.
It's nearly 2 a.m., and tomorrow morning will be the beginning of another day that passes in September bringing with it a few more fallen leaves.
Just days ago it was pleasant fall and now it is biting, ominous chilly fall. Weeks ago it was summer and sunshine and oh-my-God-it's-so-hot-I'm-dying temperatures (i.e. 75 degrees Fahrenheit--so I have a low heat tolerance, sue me). I semi-seriously joked all summer that I wished it was winter. Now it's almost winter, and I'm kicking myself for sweating the summer away.
To be honest though, I've missed the snow. Anyone who spent a modicum of time with me last year can attest to my weirdly large love of Alaska. I'm not particularly into winter sports or cold weather activities, so it doesn't make sense to me either. But I've heard from rom-coms that the truest loves make the least amount of sense.
Really, I've moved around enough to know that my soul belongs in the snow. Or in Jordan. Or, to be honest, a large number of places. But I'm making a concerted effort to stop writing about my aching wanderlust, so this thought ends here. (Per Valerie's feedback, "no, I mean, your blog is still good. You should just stop writing about how much you miss Jordan.")
I keep meaning to stop when I'm walking through the woods to get back home. The leaves are turning more yellow every hour and the ground coverings are a brilliant red. But there are articles to edit and math homework to finish and lunch to eat and reading for classes to blow off and the internet to surf and lap swim to make it to and a radio show to put together and texts to guiltily not answer (sorry, guys), so I keep walking. I tell myself that one day my life will calm down. It might.
I'm writing for writing's sake. It's been a challenging few months since I've been home, but the one thing I can do is put one word after the other. Sometimes I forget that, but I'm trying not to these days.
It's nearly 2 a.m., and tomorrow morning will be the beginning of another day that passes in September bringing with it a few more fallen leaves.
Maybe tonight we can blow something off, wear cute scarves, and just walk through winter so we don't accidentally blink.
ReplyDeleteYou have a real gift for writing*
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