Waiting and calibrating
Exactly a year ago in Georgia. In Maine, I still have my daffodils and forsythia to look forward to.
Growing up in Maine, I knew that right around the change to Daylight Saving Time, I could expect the peepers to appear.
Every year, around the first weekend in April, these tiny little frogs would suddenly awaken in their bogs and ponds and begin their nightly calls.
Even though the oak trees were still leafless and stark, the grass was brown, and the weather was chilly, we could be assured that spring had arrived.
Sort of. Today may be the first day of spring, but yesterday was one of the most uncomfortably cold and windy days of the year. There are crocuses blooming in my yard, but just a few days ago they endured a fresh blanket of snow.
They’re used to it, as am I. The coming of spring is a lot less frustrating if I calibrate my expectations to the realities of this latitude, regardless of what the calendar says.
In Atlanta, the daffodils show up by Valentine’s Day. Here, we’re still waiting. Daily temperatures have not yet risen above 50 degrees. Everything is on a different timetable.
March used to be my most hated month because I thought it should be springlike and was mad that it wasn’t. It is easier to bear when I expect the entire month to be winter (no “out like a lamb” here in midcoast Maine) and if I’m lucky enough to sneak away for part of February.
Around here, about half of April is pretty wintry, too. In 2021, it snowed on my birthday, which is April 22. The nerve! Meanwhile, in Atlanta, it’s peak azalea season at that time. I have to let go of that if I want to survive Maine.
I am working on my seasonal impatience. It’s a metaphor for the way distorted expectations cause needless suffering wherever they show up.
If I believe things should be different than they are, I’m going to waste a lot of energy railing against reality.
If I accept things exactly as they are, I will find a lot of joy in the gradual unfolding.
There have been so many times when I have been dissatisfied with growth or development because it was not happening fast enough. That was a miserable way to live.
Teaching children taught me to notice tiny increments of progress that were invisible at first glance.
Building a business taught me that it might take awhile for anything to happen in response to an initiative.
So many of my endeavors require repetition and patience. There’s no way to make buds open faster or accelerate the cycle of the tides.
Learning to tolerate this truth in others made me better able to tolerate it in myself. And though I still carry the longing for the next season, I’ve learned to more deeply appreciate the one I’m in.
In my early adulthood, winter was bad. It was something to escape from. But I’m beginning to appreciate the preciousness of all days and all phases of life, recognizing their finiteness. None of it lasts forever, neither the discomfort of the bitter March winds nor the warm, extended days of summer. We might as well try to find joy and satisfaction wherever we are, whatever the circumstances.
Even though I’m expecting them, the peepers delight me every year. They’re a symbol of resilience and renewal. There’s no more fitting way to characterize getting through a Maine winter. I’m looking forward to them — but I’m committed to enjoying the days between now and then.
