Sunburn

    I am huddled near the warmth of my desktop reading lamp, bundled under layer upon layer of sweatshirts and sweaters and thawing my popsicle like fingers out, on the lukewarm plastic of my softly humming laptop, while sorting through the classifieds online. How long does winter really last here? A question for me, that is both literal and figurative. My self worth is not dependent upon who I am, what I do, or anything here on earth, but that doesn't stop my mind from traveling down these well trodden paths anyway. The treads on the shoes of my brain have been worn smooth over the years, and at times feel like they are more suitable for bowling rather than hiking, and let me tell you I can't handle more than 3 rounds of bowling before I throw in the towel.
    The mountains are beautiful here. Covered in lush temperate rainforests, lined with gigantic twisted trees, surrounded by ferns and painted with layers of green moss and hanging lichens. You may even be fortunate enough to encounter the mythical pudú on a hike through it's tangled web of trails. (It's no yeti by any stretch of the imagination, but adorable none the less.) Upon looking up, to the heights you will discover a delicate white layer of icing spread evenly over each pointed peak. This regularly makes us take a step back, and say.. "wow.. we live here!" and we do... but just because the mountains are overflowing with awesomeness and raw beauty, this doesn't change our reality,...that they are in fact mountains....very high, difficult and sometimes dangerous to climb mountains. So I better get a new pair of shoes right? Why is good footwear so hard to find?
     I keep telling myself that I know that the climb will be rewarding on so many levels, but it doesn't always feel that way. So the idea of "why even climb?" can be a reoccurring theme. Why even set foot at the base of the mountain? If I had the excuse of " it's cozy and warm back at the house" I would use it, but it's not, so I won't. I wonder what I would miss, and am currently missing, because of my fear of heights? Fear of failure? Fear of rejection? Stinkin ole Fear. He has a way about him, that Fear,...of whispering troubling little thoughts into my mind. Thoughts with wings, that take flight and have little use for rest or sleep. Perching and pecking away on the frontal and temporal lobes and parts of the limbic system including the cingulate gyrus. They are fueled by the cold and consistent rain outside my window. I'd like to grab those guys by their feathered tails, give them a shake and just punch old man Fear right in his head! Why do I even listen to him? Maybe I'd share a word or two with Mr. Hippocampus and Mr. Hypothalamus as well.
   Where are you Spring? Where are your warm breezes and blossoming flower petals? Where are your nests of furry baby bunnies and your cool starry nights? Why have you left me to languish in this cold and dark and damp and moldy landscape? Why do you delay your arrival? This cup of tea can only make me warm for a few more minutes, and than it's on it's way back to where it came from, leaving me with cold hands and numb fingers. And where are you Summer? With your long sun soaked days and pajamaless warm nights? Where are you sweet corn? Where are you picnics on blankets with ant trails and honey bees in my drink, by the calm waters of a rippling stream? And where are you sunburn?

Where are you sunburn?