S.A.D.

It’s early Sunday morning and I awoke as I have the past few weeks or so, straight into the arms of a gray, breezy, Groundhog’s Day-like mini-nightmare of sunless weather. Yesterday walking, there was literally 20 seconds when the sun came out and I could feel my whole spirit jump for joy. And then it disappeared again into the grey oppressive mass of summer fog. 

 

I’m mostly quite happy at the moment. My wife is off biking in the Netherlands (also quite happy) and so I have a rare solitude in my own home that is a kind of time I cherish. 100% in charge of my own mood, my own sense of cleanliness (actually less cluttered and cleaner than when we share the space), a calendar filled with at least one welcome activity each day (like singing with a different group of kids or adults every single day last week). Walking, despite the cold, some four to seven miles a day, listening to Abraham Vergese’s epic new book The Covenant of Water, thoroughly immersed in the nightly soap opera of The Good Wife (re-watching these many years later with only vague memories of what happens) and up at the top of my lifetime piano-playing Wheel of Fortune, fingers gleefully romping through Bach and Bird, Chopin and Monk with energy, precision and expressive nuance. Amidst my solitude, lovely visits with my daughter, sister, friends and colleagues. 

Life is good.

 

Except. I definitely have a case of S.A.D.— Seasonal Affect Disorder— and with nothing on my calendar today, my one goal is to walk/bike or drive as far as necessary to find the sun. North, South or East (West is water), I am determined to feel its life-giving warmth on my face and to walk in a world restored to color after weeks of grey. 

 

Wish me luck!