A few nights ago, I was having a really rough time. I was feeling lonely and discouraged and down on myself. I was reading a book and lamenting that I will never write as well as that author. I was feeling pretty worthless, when it comes right down to the truth.
But even in the midst of my tears, I knew something. This will pass. It is largely a symptom of winter, when the gray clouds fill the sky and the temperatures chill my bones. When April comes and the warm breezes ruffle my hair and the trees and flowers bloom, I will feel much better about life.
It’s one really good thing about being middle-aged. I know myself better than I ever have before. I know that winter is hard for me. Rules I’ve made for myself include that I’m not allowed to make major decisions in the winter, and I’m not allowed to label myself in the winter. Things always are brighter — both literally and metaphorically — in the spring.
And a December sunrise like this one always serves to lift my spirits, too.