winter of my discontent
“And so begins the winter of our discontent.”
What follows is definitely no Steinbeck, so don’t get your hopes up too high with a strong hook. I used to revel in the darkness, but for some reason this time change-daylight savings period of adjustment is messing with my headspace. Darkness falls approximately one hour after I get home from work; twilight hits early. It makes me anxious.
A leisurely stroll downtown takes a different tone with the senses heightened and a brisker pace. The “productivity window” – those extra hours after the work day where the daylight prods me to remain efficient and motivated – starts to draw the shade much earlier. I feel like I’m sinking straight into winter, a darker and drearier version of autumn and seemingly unending passageway to spring. I’m attempting to draw some inspiration from my surroundings, but this early darkness feels more foreboding than welcoming. Perhaps that’s an overstatement; I don’t sense evil or misfortune, but the self-reflection and easy motivation I’ve found for the past months seems to be dwindling like the daylight.
I can’t help but feel I’m entering a time of discontent; which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. I sense a period of uncomfortable adjustments looming in the shadowlands. Lately I find myself actively trying to extract some source of discipline, incentive and optimism from deep within to keep my mind and body from becoming lazy as we dip into a traditionally lackluster time of year, at least from my perspective. I’m using this time of discontent as a constructive period to break out of my habitual winter routines and embrace upheaval as an unexpected, positive force. So I pause, take a breath and walk towards the gray areas I’ve found in the darkness on the edge of town.
“Tonight I'll be on that hill 'cause I can't stop
I'll be on that hill with everything I got
Lives on the line where dreams are found and lost
I'll be there on time and I'll pay the cost
For wanting things that can only be found
In the darkness on the edge of town.” - Springsteen
What follows is definitely no Steinbeck, so don’t get your hopes up too high with a strong hook. I used to revel in the darkness, but for some reason this time change-daylight savings period of adjustment is messing with my headspace. Darkness falls approximately one hour after I get home from work; twilight hits early. It makes me anxious.
A leisurely stroll downtown takes a different tone with the senses heightened and a brisker pace. The “productivity window” – those extra hours after the work day where the daylight prods me to remain efficient and motivated – starts to draw the shade much earlier. I feel like I’m sinking straight into winter, a darker and drearier version of autumn and seemingly unending passageway to spring. I’m attempting to draw some inspiration from my surroundings, but this early darkness feels more foreboding than welcoming. Perhaps that’s an overstatement; I don’t sense evil or misfortune, but the self-reflection and easy motivation I’ve found for the past months seems to be dwindling like the daylight.
I can’t help but feel I’m entering a time of discontent; which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. I sense a period of uncomfortable adjustments looming in the shadowlands. Lately I find myself actively trying to extract some source of discipline, incentive and optimism from deep within to keep my mind and body from becoming lazy as we dip into a traditionally lackluster time of year, at least from my perspective. I’m using this time of discontent as a constructive period to break out of my habitual winter routines and embrace upheaval as an unexpected, positive force. So I pause, take a breath and walk towards the gray areas I’ve found in the darkness on the edge of town.
“Tonight I'll be on that hill 'cause I can't stop
I'll be on that hill with everything I got
Lives on the line where dreams are found and lost
I'll be there on time and I'll pay the cost
For wanting things that can only be found
In the darkness on the edge of town.” - Springsteen
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