Changing Seasons

It is March in Alberta and the temperatures are above normal. The snow is melting and the sun is warm. There are only a few weeks left at the ski area where I teach, though mountain skiing will remain open through May. North Americans moved to Daylight Savings this past weekend. The season is changing from winter to spring.

Though I love to ski and have written much about skiing this past winter, I welcome spring. As I walked Bode this afternoon, it was not just his nose that twitched. Mine did too. I smelled spring. Underneath the melting snow, is earth. Pungent, moist. The smells bring me back to childhood, playing near the river where I grew up. The smell is pleasant and evokes the magic of new growth. I noticed tiny buds emerging on shrubs. The grass is still matted and dull brown but no matter, it will green up soon enough. Spring is on its way.

As I drove to the ski hill earlier in the day, I reflected on how I am feeling this year relative to last year. I am happier. There is no doubt. Much has happened in my life since last year but the change is not in the events. The change is in me. I am more accepting of who I am. I realized about ten years ago that I either lived in the past or in future imagining. While I have aspired to live in the moment, it has taken many seasons of change to help me to this point. My happiness is in me. It is not because I am looking forward to a vacation overseas. It is not because my hair is blond, red, or brown. It is not because I am getting a promotion at work.

My happiness is because I now write. I write this blog. I write in a journal. I even write poems. My happiness is because I take risks and pursue challenges and find them both easy and hard. My happiness is because I spend time with myself and time with others. My happiness is because I am active with too many options to do them all. My happiness is because I am alive. Alive to feel the wind on my face, the sun on my arms. Alive to inhale the scent of lemons, cinnamon, and fresh grass. (Alive to be allergic to freshly mown grass). Alive to feel the tightness of an overworked muscle. I am happy in this moment, in this liminal time between winter and spring.