March is a weird month, no?
I don’t like basketball at all, so I don’t get swept up in the Madness. I wear green for 17 days straight, and by, oh, a few days ago, I’m ALL DONE and desperately want to wear other colors. It’s 80 degrees one day, 14 the next with a blizzard on the way as the tulips, daffodils, and lilies push their way up.
My mini rose bush is all greened up with red buds all over.
March is confused.
We used to take part in the big Pittsburgh St. Patrick’s Day festivities, but we’re old now. And tired. One year, Little League baseball try-outs fell on the same day. They don’t this year, but both boys have to try out as both are in Official Little League Ages which means, yes, we’re old now. And tired. Baseball season is almost here for the both the kids and our enjoyment, but not quite.
Not just yet.
March feels like a month of waiting for things to happen. Things are greening up, but not just yet. Almost baseball season, but not just yet. Almost my birthday month, but not just yet. Almost spring, but ha! Nope!
March is an in-betweener. Like the tween boy in my house. Still young enough to enjoy playing games with his family, but old enough to want to spend time with his friends instead of his parents. Old enough to read Really Big Books with Really Big Themes, but young enough to enjoy laughing his way through another read of Captain Underpants with his younger brother. Old enough to make sense of the news; young enough not to be scared stiff by it all.
March is the approach of spring, the end of winter; the promise of something new, the leftovers of a weird winter weather season. March settles in your bones a little, the cold, damp air of attempting to change a season—back and forth, back and forth. March makes you take a sweater with you everywhere you go. March makes you remember seasons and people. March makes you wonder if it was just you.
March makes you want to peek around the corner of the calendar for a glimpse of what’s coming even when you know you need to stay present in this moment. March makes this moment feel like it will never end when you’re trapped back in the house during the most recent cold snap. Cabin fever leaves you feeling a little less like you, makes you wonder if this is just what you feel like now.
March makes you question. Everything. Yourself. Your partner. Your friends. Gravity. Global warming. Politics and politicians and Russia and perjury. Gin. Wine. Why people need to turn beer green in order to drink it when it’s good already. Which kind of coffee you really like; I’m currently on an Italian Roast kick. Television. Adoption. Exercise. Running. Your joints. Your hair. Your fingernails. The way your toes crack. Food. Potential. Organization or lack thereof. Dogs. Babies. Pokemon. The definition of success; your definition of success. Failure. The many ways we’ve failed so many in the human rights category. Feminism and its problem with true intersectionality. Mental health. Mental illness. Insomnia. Sleep. Parenting. Birth-parenting. That thing you did that changed life for so many people in ways none of you could have imagined at the time. Love, hate, and everything in between. What to get Katie for her birthday. Your past. Your future. Your present. Music. Why you do that thing you do. Why you don’t do that thing you don’t do. Life. Death.
March doesn’t offer answers, just 31 whole days to live, to love, to be you.