It’s a little strange, but as I get older, I seem to be ignoring the turning of the seasons more and more. Oh, I still notice them. I know when it’s summer and I know when it’s winter, and I know when one it’s either of my two preferred seasons in between those, but the fact that the seasons are happening doesn’t necessarily change anything I have to do. Granting that most of what I have to do is indoors in one way or another, either at work or at home. But even the outside stuff. I just do.
I do recognize the weather, even if I don’t always enjoy it. In my slightly younger days, as a runner, for example, so long as the temperature was above about -15C, regardless of wind chill or precipitation, I’d go for a run. Now, not that I run much anymore, I don’t like to run when it’s just raining a little bit. But the cycle of seasons is just a cycle of seasons, and sometimes I feel quite detached from it. For so much of human history, those seasons, whatever they were and wherever you were, were important, part of the rhythm of life and existence. Now, I mostly don’t care.
There are things to love and enjoy and watch whatever the season and so the season doesn’t seem to matter much to me.
And I wonder if maybe there’s more to it. Have we, mostly meaning me, become too attached to technology? I mean, I love technology, and a lot of it makes my life better in so many ways, although I think there are smarter, more environmentally friendly ways to do a lot of things. Does technology divorce me from that earliest of all clocks?
I’ve been thinking about that, trying to find fresh meaning in the calendar. It may be just a mental exercise, but maybe I’ll find something deeper there, something to enjoy, something to experience. Maybe there’s some genetic memory to uncover, and maybe I’m only thinking about it more because I’m more introspective, more all the time.
Be well, everyone.by