|
Spring sort of comes and goes where I live. One minute it’s balmy and
warm and you’re driving around with your windows down and the breeze
blowing in your face, and the next minute it’s cold and blustery and
you’re wondering where you put the snow shovel.
Today is one of those days when spring is both coming . . . and going.
It’s bright and sunny out – but not really. Rather than the clear blue
sky one normally associates with a spring day, a high, thin layer of
clouds have given this spring day a murky pallor. The gentle breeze that
is blowing is cool – almost too briskly to be considered “gentle,” and
almost too cool to be completely comfortable. The blossom-less branches
of the apple tree outside my window bounce and bend almost menacingly –
especially when the breeze blows into a full gust of wind.
It
is spring, and yet it isn’t.
Springy, that is.
The weather prognosticators on the radio insist that a storm is on its
way. By the afternoon we will have rain, they say, and maybe a little
snow. And it will be cold. Usually such a prediction means we will
actually be sweltering in sun-bathed ecstasy this afternoon, but just in
case they’re right this time I have the window by my desk fully opened to
let in whatever remains of this spring day – cold and blustery and murky
though it may be.
Of
course, there’s a downside to that. It’s just a little too cool to be
jacket-less, and those occasional gusts of wind have a way of blowing
around the papers on my desk. So I’m sitting here wearing a jacket, with
notes and papers strewn all over the room, my window wide open to the
advancing storm.
It’s a little incongruent, I know. It would make more sense to just close
the window, take off the jacket and put the papers back on the desk where
they belong. But it’s spring, and after a long, cold, snow-filled winter
I can’t bring myself to shut it out – not until I absolutely have to.
Of
course, this isn’t the first time in my life that I’ve made a choice that
flew in the face of conventional wisdom. Come to think of it, my history
seems to be filled with more nonsense than common sense. I quit a
relatively well-paying job two weeks before my wedding day over a dispute
with an abusive employer. Even so, Anita and I decided to begin having
children immediately after we were married rather than to wait until we
were settled in as a couple and could afford it. We continued having
children – five of them, God bless ‘em! – even though we couldn’t afford
to buy a home in which to raise them. When we finally DID buy a home
after 17 years of marriage and child-bearing, it was probably more than we
could afford.
And don’t even get me started talking about the extensive remodeling we
have just completed – right smack dab through the middle of that long,
cold, snow-filled winter I was talking about. What were we thinking when
we got started with that?
So
it isn’t too surprising that today I find myself in the midst of another
seemingly incongruent change in my life. I won’t bore you with the
details – it’s just work stuff, having to do with leaving one steady,
secure job with people I’ve grown to love, and heading off into something
a little less secure at a time in my life when I should be worrying about
accruing as much pension as I possibly can because . . . well, I’m not
getting any younger, you know?
Don’t get me wrong: I’m pleased with the new opportunity. But I can’t
help but wonder if I know what the heck I’m doing. Then I look back on
those other unconventional, nonsensical choices, and I realize that things
have a way of working out. Which is not to say that things have always
turned out perfectly when I’ve gone against the grain, because they
haven’t. But even bad choices have a way of shaping you and turning you
into the person you eventually become.
So
I’m putting on a jacket and throwing open another window in my life, fully
aware that there’s a storm called “old age” on its way. The way I see it,
life is too short not to enjoy the spring while it’s here, whether it’s
coming or going.
Cold and blustery and murky though it may be.
# # # |