Dark and Cozy

Milwaukee is cooling down.

After a long October of teases, the temperature dropping for a few days before rocketing back up to the mid-80s (~30 C), late-November has gifted me a string of 40–50 degree (4–10 C) days, with not a hint of a whisper of a suggestion of humidity throughout.

So I finally cycled my wardrobe, dropping a few piles of light shirts and shorts into the not-wearing-right-now drawer, and swapped in several well-loved, fluffy sweaters and jackets, alongside (optimistically) my winter parka.

I always look forward to this period and this process, as while it’s initially unnerving to have the sun disappear for such long periods and to have to bundle up before going for a run (something that’s otherwise an exercise in sweat-wicking sparsity), it also heralds the trio (or so) of months during which I can be unabashedly snug and nested without feeling like I should probably be someplace else, doing other, more active things.

It’s cold, it’s maybe drizzling or (soon!) snowing, it’s dark and foreboding outside—so why not just stay in, make a hearty stew, read a book, and enjoy the feel of a blanket around your shoulders and a heater at your feet?

Extra effort is required if I want to maintain a social life during these months, and I may succumb to seasonal affective disorder at some point (even if I feel like I’m generally having a good time).

But to have the elements push me toward things I’m reflexively keen to do? Reading and writing and cooking? Sitting with a heated blanket at my back and fuzzy slippers on my feet?

That’s a rare treat. And it’s one I gleefully anticipate every year.

My decision to live the places I do is partly shaped by the duration of these periods, and by how much their presence will influence (and shape) me and my life: nudging me to become an intensely tea-sipping, stew-spooning, story-scribbling (and sponging) version of myself…if only for a time.

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