I can already tell it's going to be difficult to maintain this blog in the summer.
I have always maintained, and still maintain, that my favorite season of the year is Autumn. I don't foresee that changing. But as we rifled through our thoughts on the four different times of year we're gifted in Minnesota, I had the thought that I am never happier than when it's summer.
Now, I suppose that might trigger me to rethink my ranked order of seasons, but I still probably prefer the fall to the other three.
Still, there's something to be examined here.
I often find happiness to be a product of inexplicable feeling and deliberate choice. Too often, I find myself bogged with thought; what does this mean? Or how did that feel? Why? For what reasons? How could that change? When will this end? Does this matter? Who would care? How does that affect her? Or him? Or me? I am thoughtful, and it's often to my detriment. I think most introverts (I am a proud ambivert) turn inward too often, or at least have the tendency to do so more frequently than their more extendable counterparts.
Summer sort of makes a wash of that, though. It's easier to find opportunities to lose that tether to the often problematic melodrama of the mind. Of course, I am equally aware that my inability to disconnect from overthinking is more severe than it is for others. And that's just fine. I'm working on it. But summer helps. It's somehow impossibly busy and exceedingly relaxed. There's freedom to create and breathe, but no time to do either. Summer: the painting that perfectly suits a room, but, actually, is unfinished.
And I suppose the weather, the natural abundance of vitamin D, is helpful. In little ol' Minnesota, a warm and sunny day only happens one in four days out of the year. So happiness just occurs with a little more ease in the summer, and becomes a bit more reliant on mindful action in Autumn. Truthfully, I think that's why I like fall the best.
It's a season of reflection.
And that's something I am--for better or worse--rather good at.