A Very Interesting Post About the Weather

I used to think seasons were just a polite fiction, like money. This was because in Texas, there were no seasons. For ten months out of the year it was either very hot or mostly hot, then around December or January it was a little chilly, and then it went back to being hot again. When I saw the traditional representations of the four seasons, I honestly did not believe in them. It was like seeing pictures of the Easter Bunny.

Then I lived in Wales, which had seasons but also the worst weather ever, which I've already written about. After that, I lived in New Hampshire. Again, beautiful place, but the weather could kick your ass. The problem with New Hampshire is that you would think winter was over and suddenly it would come back twice as wintry as it was before. It was a constant, almost daily battle between the sun and the snow, and it would last for months and months. It nearly cost me my ability to hope.

All of this has made me a bit paranoid about the weather. When it's nice and sunny out, my first instinct is to hide indoors in an air-conditioned room with the shutters drawn, because when it's sunny in Texas, it's generally too hot to do anything else. When spring is in the air, the birds start singing and teenagers start falling in love, I steel myself for the cold. Like a man who's just taken a 12-hour flight across an international dateline, all my instincts are backwards.

Here in Brooklyn, it's getting very nice out. In yesterday's mail was an offer to extend my lease. I realized that I've been in New York for nearly two years, and I don't have to worry any more about being betrayed by the weather.