Winter Solstice in June

As we all know, life cannot always be happy. In order to appreciate happiness, we are forced to attend to cycles of depression or at the very least, a mild bout of melancholy. Usually during these down cycles in our lives, many of us spend a lot of time thinking about what we might have done wrong, what we should maybe do differently, and how much better everyone else seems to have it. Is this healthy? Maybe not, but I am convinced that it is natural and even necessary in the larger scheme of things.

Alas, this cyclical existence of ups and down applies to even the most swaggering, adventuresome life. And right now, I'm decidedly lacking swagger for my adventure as I hit a down cycle hard and struggle to move back into the light. Perhaps some of my dark mood is tied to the dark days here. After all, tomorrow is the WINTER solstice, which marks 9 months of winter in a row for me. That is... hard. Outside of Alaska, there are very few people in the world who can push through nine months of winter without some sense of the renewal of spring coming their way. Although I will admit that I have had it easier than all of my family and friends in Oregon this year, who are still waiting for their much deserved summer with July 4th just around the corner. Many people get the blues in the winter: the short, dark days; the cold that makes you stiff; the tendency toward hibernation and the boredom that entails. For me, winter is always a difficult time unless you happen to be strapped onto skis and flying down a snow-slick mountain at exhilarating speeds.

Maybe my current depression is related to the simple fact that I can't afford to strap on skis and cure my winter blues with speed for the 4th season in a row. And now: the Andes, so tantalizingly close, are positively breaking me. Without money in your pocket to have grand adventures in a new place, I think moving somewhere spectacular can actually be harder than staying somewhere familiar. And after the ultimate high of being on the move across Argentina for a month, this last month of staying put has been quite the opposite for me. Life on the move entailed making new friends every night, a new city every few days, and a new adventure every morning. Now I am faced with landlubber's anxiety (phrase courtesy of Phillip Pullman), where I worry about finding work, having enough clothes, food, and friends, and struggling with boredom. Mendoza, the city that was so vibrant and alive to me just one month ago, is closing up shop for the winter. The street musicians and open markets have been replaced by little more than crisp leaves in the cold breeze and the stark shadows of naked, skeletal trees. I am missing the music and life and laughter of summertime as this endless winter drags ever on.

Inside too, all is not well. Like two caged birds, Pat and I have been fighting incessantly, almost eager to egg each other on. Undoubtedly, we are spending far too much time inside. And being deathly ill and bedridden together for 4 days certainly did little to contribute to our equilibrium. But here we are, so far from home, and fighting about these mundane but all important landlubber worries. Still no work for Pat, still no money for rent. Another job for me, but not enough to pay the bills. And we keep looking at one another and asking: Is this worth it? Can we really do this?

Up and down, up and down. I can only hope that as the winter dark ebbs and gives way to more light tomorrow night, our lives too, will find a way to be light and happy and musical again.