Spring Wind

The first day of spring was four days ago, and so far it's been gorgeous. Sunny and mild and incredibly windy, which I actually kind of hate. Wind can ruin a perfectly nice day.

I've always resented wind for ruining my hair and making it hard to breathe. Then a friend told me she gets energy from the wind, and I started thinking about it differently. The other day, when it was gusting really strongly during my lunch walk, I put my face into it and closed my eyes and tried to breathe in that power.

It really is awesome.

Today is another such day, sunny and beautiful all morning, darkening clouds and chill winds tearing through the house now. Opening all the windows is such a freeing feeling after the winter. The grass is greening, the tulips are showing, the crocus has already come and gone thanks to the snow last week. I spent the morning pulling weeds.

"You can't do all that, you'll die!" said my roommate. 

It's funny how we're a nanosecond into spring and already there's a jungle of dandelions and milkweed that want to take over the bottom half of my yard. 

I didn't die. But I didn't finish, either. Made it to the second step before hanging up the gloves for the day. I sat in the newly painted Adirondack chair for a while and watched the birds at the feeder, the squirrel running up and down the tree, the rabbit come back from feeding and duck back into the gap under the house. 

Spring is volatile. Tonight it's just cloudy, but there's rain and snow on the way in a couple of days. It's the season where colors return and the Earth is bursting with the scent of new life. The scent of beginning. I can't wait until the purple salvia and the yellow forsythia burst into their colors. 

Snowflakes

Saw this tonight, and got philosophical. 

I do dislike the ‘I think like men’ thing.

I used to say it myself, though. I have four brothers. I grew up around men, I liked to think I understood how they operate and think, and that I was similar. I’m a blunt speaker. I like sports. I loathe duplicity and “catty” behavior in others.

I’ll use the word catty because its meaning is a specific one about a specific kind of behavior that most are familiar with, but it’s a terrible word. I have four cats. They can be asses, but they’re asses right to your face. There’s nothing sneaky about it.

I don’t count the pissing in the closet because I’m pretty sure that was Gordon and it’s because he’s a thousand twenty years old.

Anyway.

I used to say I was like a guy, my best friends were guys, etc. in exactly the way this meme describes. Men are easy. They say what they mean. They don’t smile to your face and talk shit behind your back.

Only, they totally do. At least as much as women do.

Because people are people, and whether or not one is honest or a liar, easygoing or uptight, moody or easygoing, is a matter of character and personality, and has nothing to do with sex or gender. It’s the innate thing that makes you who you are. How you respond in a crisis, how you behave when nobody’s watching – that’s what makes you special.  

Humans, at least in Western culture, don’t generally like to be lumped into a group, because it’s imperative that the individual be considered apart from his group. “Just because some people, doesn’t mean I…” Every comments section includes somebody’s personal anecdote about how they are the exception to whatever assertion was made in the article.

We are all generally quick to distance ourselves from what everybody is doing.  It’s our quest for immortality in being unique individuals, damn it.

Snowflakes, if you will.

It’s odd that this term has been bandied about as an insult, when it is in fact the sum total of all that humans want to be. One of a kind. One in a million. A real gem. We glorify and crave being held in the highest esteem among our humans. “May his name live forever.”  The worst curse of all is to be ordinary.

At the same time, the worst crime of all is not to be ordinary, and the most “heartwarming” stories are the ones that celebrate the ordinary. Those whose names are not remembered beyond their grandchildren. Those are the vast bulk of the human species, and their heroism lies in not embracing the outwardly heroic role. The farmer and his high school sweetheart who raise their family on the small plot in Iowa.

Even then, we have to give their stories some twist to make them interesting. I think of “The Bridges of Madison County – “ her story is that of any farmer’s wife, at first glance. Except she’s more than that. She’s unique in some way – an immigrant, ah, a refugee of the war, a veteran’s wife. Immediately she is different – and that is what makes her interesting. Because she’s not exactly like the other unnamed farmer’s wives.

Only they all have equally unique stories, if only we were to find their memoirs in their chest of drawers.

We are all unique. Nobody else has lived in our skin, felt our joys, suffered our pains. Billions of us, experiencing the world in a unique and unrepeatable way. No two experiences will ever be exactly alike. 

We are snowflakes.