How Things Are Supposed to Feel

Next Monday will be March which I bet many people are excited about. Maybe you are one of them. I have no strong feelings either way. In the past, I may have been wistful that February was already over because that’s how I always felt when things came to their natural end. I’d probably think I can’t believe the year is going so fast as if I hadn’t done or seen or accomplished anything thus far.

March is still considered the beginning of the year but it’s also one step closer to spring, which means it’s one step closer to summer, which somehow makes it seem as though this carousel we’re on is spinning faster and faster, the colours blurring together and your fingers clinging a little tighter to everything that could disappear if you loosen your grip even for just a split second. 

Snow melts and the tiny green heads of flowers appear instead. It’s remarkable and yet, you‘ve seen it all before.The dead coming back to life – it must be the greatest example of resilience the world has ever seen. That’s what I missed the most about this season whenever I travelled to hot places where spring didn’t exist. March felt like summer: sticky, humid, endless. But it’s not supposed to feel like that. It’s supposed to feel like renewed energy, and freshness, and hope. Maybe that’s my problem: I expect things to feel a certain way and then I’m disappointed when they don’t. 

I wrote about a character like that once. She was frustrated because nothing felt the way it should. Good things felt bad and bad things felt good. It’s horrible to feel like your feelings are all wrong, as if life is playing a cruel joke on you. It made her feel very unsettled like the way a fake Christmas tree in a forest of fir trees must feel. Unfortunately, I don’t know what happens to her in the end because I never finished writing the book. 

Still, some things are supposed to feel a certain way. I believe that. Breaking your leg is supposed to hurt, and getting a promotion is supposed to feel exciting, and walking in Finland in the winter without wearing gloves is supposed to feel cold. Death feels sad, grief feels heavy, kindness feels warm. Maybe everything else has grey areas; I don’t know. I wish there was a way to know for certain because then I think life would be easier. But since there isn’t, we’re left with no choice but to muddle our way through every emotion, hoping that whatever we feel – maybe something, maybe nothing – is exactly the way we’re meant to experience this moment in time and nothing about us is wrong. 

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