Written March 19, 2023

Day 26 of 40 in a 45-day period: It’s the eve of the first day of spring and our NYC weather can’t decide what to do. Daffodils and crocuses have pushed through the dirt in the last few weeks and now they’re showing up and blooming. If flowers could speak, I wonder how many would announce, “This is not what I signed up for,” and revert back into the ground until things felt steadier.

This time of year feels itchy. The clocks jump ahead an hour, ready to bring us more daylight, implying we can extend our days and enjoyment a little longer. But now the mornings look more like the night and I’m back to walking in darkness, waiting on the sun to make its daily debut. It only takes a few weeks to get back to where we were but the waiting always tests my patience.

This may be why my preference is for the solid seasons over the transitory ones. As much as I detest true winter, I appreciate it’s brutal honesty that you’re just going to be cold so you better layer up. In the summer I’ve learned to accept that I’ll be sweating whether I walk on the sunny or the shaded side of the street. This is not something I look forward to but I appreciate the guesswork it omits from the equation.

As someone who doesn’t love surprises or big changes, I find the tease and beginning of spring to be a frustrating cycle of uncertainty. Round and round we go until one day you walk outside and it seems overnight the buds have opened up, the leaves are returning and you get that one perfect day that promises you are right where you are supposed to be.

I wonder if that’s true for the daffodils and crocuses as they shiver with a biting winter wind after a day that felt like spring. Maybe they are blooming at just the right time, a preview of what’s to come. Perhaps their early blooms are here to remind us to be a little more patient because the seasons will eventually change, surrendering in the tug of war and for a little while we’ll be reminded of just how far we’ve come and all the promises ahead.