It's mid-November. Leaves turn the color of Tang and Kool-Aid and then just brown and gone. I hate the early darkness. The pull towards blankets and slippers and tea and chocolate is strong. If I can't hibernate, I will be displeased. (So, mostly, I'm displeased.)
As with times of displeasure, I want. I want a lot of stuff. A parka. Some stupid warm cozy vegan fake Uggs for when I inevitably stop caring about looks this winter. Dress after dress. Necklaces. Sneakers. Sandals for next summer. And frankly, I've already overspent plenty. And none of this is going to make me love fall or winter or fix the issues I'm dealing with right now.
But it's very hard to get back on the right track. To find gratitude in nature when all you see is dying and death and pain and hurt, both seasonally and with the world at large. It's hard to find faith in the equilibrium of the world and in Mr. Rogers posthumously advising you to look for the people who are helping. And sometimes it's hard to know how to help. Especially when I want to cocoon and be a misathrope (misandrist?). There is something about the winter that really takes the "helper" out of me. It doesn't take my empathy - which I have in spades. But the ability to show up and participate and to feel connected and grateful.
You can see why a new parka, left unexamined, would seem like an easier fix, right? But it's not. And so I have to figure out how to reconnect -- against biology and brain chemistry and all that can downward spiral. That's what the fix is. Hugs. People. Cats. Warmth. Soup. Candles. The power in people who are good. That's what's actually important.