My Timehop shows that around this week every year, I’ve retweeted this Ernest Hemingway quote. Before I’d even read Hemingway, this string of words was doing things to me. It’s a good one.
In the last year, Hemingway’s become my homeboy. I’ve had some dark months when all I needed was his short, stabby, to-the-point sentences — when I always thought I’d hate him for exactly those short and stabby sentences. I’ve had to force myself to stop binge-reading his books, to keep the thrill of an unread Hemingway book around a little longer. I’m saving the one containing this quote for last. Maybe for next spring. Or the spring after that.
When spring came, even the false spring, there were no problems except where to be happiest. The only thing that could spoil a day was people and if you could keep from making engagements, each day had no limits. People were always the limiters of happiness except for the very few that were as good as spring itself.
My high school history teacher had a theory that one’s favorite season is also the season in which their birth month falls. I scoffed as I proved her theory false. I’m a February baby, and February is always the grossest month of winter. I’d much rather have the rejuvenating spring.
And this spring is especially rejuvenating. Big life changes unfolding. My eyes are getting clearer, my heart lighter, my spirit brighter. It is spring. Rebirth. Everything is new and beautiful and I love every moment of it. Even if it is only in the 30s today and it may snow tonight. This false start to spring is just giving me a peek of the truth.