They told me it would it would happen, but I foolishly believed myself to be immune.
I’ve been a pluviophile–a rain lover–my whole life, so I thought I’d find solace and comfort in the long, gray Pacific Northwest winters. In the beginning it wasn’t too difficult to bear with a plethora of reading material and knitting projects to keep me occupied at any given moment. However, within the last couple of weeks or so, I’ve been feeling trapped.
In the months leading into winter, as I’d wax poetic about the stalwart steely sky, locals told me I’d sing a diffent tune before all was said and done. And, I’m ashamed to admit, so I am.
On a whim, I booked a flight south, California to be exact, to soak up some sun, stick my toes in the sand, and rediscover the feeling of freedom I always find in the Golden State. It’s only for a few days but it’s just the escape I need to kickstart my creativity and begin thinking about how I’m going to use the months ahead to shift into new patterns of thinking and doing and being. I can’t wait.