My life swings in this usual cliche. Every time I round the calendar into spring, my life tends to change drastically along with the weather. I feel brighter, the sun shines longer. I learn important things, the apple trees blossom. Even when something goes terribly wrong, thunder clouds gather and the rain pours endlessly. My life is the definition of pathetic fallacy.

And every spring, I tend to look back. Reflect.

Though in New York March isn’t really considered spring, today’s warm weather has prompted me to gaze back at my life, back at the upstate snow and blistering winds.

Last March was one of the worst times in my life.

And whenever I’m in a certain stage in life, whether I’m aware or not at the moment, there’s this specific feeling which accompanies my circumstance. Whether I can remember distinctly the floor polish scents of my elementary school years, the texture of my uniform headband, or the empty, lonely feeling middle school brought, the time spent locked away in my bedroom, flipping endlessly the pages of every teen novel in existence, every stage of my life has a completely memorable atmosphere that engulfs me upon reflection.

When I think of last March, I’m immersed in thought of how microwavable soup sticks in my mouth, the feeling accompanied with tired bus rides, small offices, regretful journal entries, loneliness, The Smiths, the smells of Hospitals, cold, wet air scraping against my throat. I think of disaster, and love, and how oddly the two can intertwine. The feeling is specific, and potent. It’s almost indescribable. The way March 2016 looks in my mind, and the way dishes feel when I wash them, the silence of an empty house, and the smell of soup, and detergent, and mint gum, and the driving to hospitals and the empty world that is the winter… it’s specific and potent and indescribable.

March isn’t something I particularly enjoy reflecting upon, but it reminds me of where I am now. I’m no longer in an empty house, in this lonely snow globe that was my home town, my circumstance, my wrongdoings, my inescapable disaster. I’m free. I’m by New York City, I’m in a warm, foggy place where birds chirp and friends laugh and love is sure and my future isn’t uncertain to the point of nonexistent. I’ve broken the glass, poured out with the watery snow. And though, at times, I long for the sense of security I had, I realize that this March is exponentially better than the last. And the next will be better than now. And it’s comforting.

I was told recently to reflect on the good things during the bad moments. But I think it’s alright to reflect on the bad moments during the good things as well. Not deeply, but enough to realize that this linear time we all travel is trending upward. That bad dips here and there are just that. Things will trend positively. It might be less dramatically than these two Marches, but that’s okay.

It’s all… okay.


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