You have to love the month of April from a strictly meteorological perspective. When I lived in California, where spring starts arriving in February, by April the weather was predictably beautiful. When I lived in Michigan, you could have a blizzard one week and it be 70 degrees the next. That’s kind of how it’s been here in Maryland: on last Thursday (April 4), the high was 50 degrees and the low was 32. On this Wednesday–a week later–it’s supposed to be in the upper 80s–a 30+ degree difference. A little cold front’s supposed to blow through on Friday so that by Saturday the high is only going to be 63 degrees. I say only, but that’s still going to feel pretty good all things considered. It’s not at all unusual to completely skip spring and go from winter to summer, which is very nearly what’s happening here.
I am grateful for the warm up, though it means a significant wardrobe shift. Going abruptly from winter to summer wreaks havoc on finding clothing that is appropriate to the weather. I’m grateful that even though I lived seven years in California, I retained significant portions of winter weight clothing. So this morning I was scrambling to figure out what to wear given a 25 degree temperature shift. Later this week I’ll be more systematic about putting away much of my wool winter wear and taking out lightweight cottons and blends in preparation for summer. When I look over into my tiny closet and my modest wardrobe, I have to smile and shake my head. While the number and relative quality of the various items in my closet is not that great, it is not lost upon me that relative to some folks I’m doing pretty well.
My son first taught me about “first world problems,” things that people with access to privilege and financial wealth complain about that most people living in other parts of the world (and even parts of this country) would shake their heads about. In the scheme of things, my winter-summer wardrobe dilemmas would not make sense to someone who needs a single pair of shoes to cover bare feet or a winter coat or warm blankets. It is also not useful for me to feel guilty about and compare my relative ease and comfort with those who are less fortunate or have less access to life “basics” than I do. When I think and write about gratitude I try to write from the perspective of things I am grateful for in my life and try to avoid writing about my good fortune relative to others. There will always be people who have more than me and those who have less. I try to think about how I can use what I have to create good wherever I am.
Do I wish my life felt a little easier, yes. I watch reports on the news about people near my age who are looking forward to retirement in a few years and have saved up for their dream vacation or plan invest in a winery to start their second careers and cool things like that. I think to myself that given that my 401K probably looks more like a 100.25K, I think my retirement timeframe and goals are probably a lot different than some folks. But even with that, my “challenges” are not at all what they could be and so much of what I faced and still bump into periodically are largely first world problems.
I am grateful for having gained some key insights and perspective on what I consider “problems.” Like just about everyone I have my struggles; I try not to belittle or make light of them in any way because they are in their own right difficult. They represent places where I need to take some action or get help from others to work through the difficulties as best I can. They are not overwhelming or insurmountable, though there are times when I realize I do not have the capacity to tackle them on my own. But when I look at the things I am challenged by, about which I could get fearful, anxious, frustrated and angry, I think about them in relation to things that could be so much more difficult. I take a deep breath, realize that what I’m fretting on bears no resemblance to the problems that really would set me reeling.
Ah, this is one of those nights when what I want to say is not coming out as clearly as I’d like. I wish you could come sit with me in my living room and we could talk about what I’m trying to express. Let me boil it down to this: recently I asked myself “What’s the worst thing that could happen right now? What is something that I would think would be unendurable?” I realized that the list would be very, very short. And the vast majority of what I face on a daily, weekly, monthly basis doesn’t even come close to anything on my “worst possibles” list. So instead I want to focus on the really awesome possibilities in any given moment and not expend a lot of energy and time zeroed in on what’s restrictive and limiting. I am still working the kinks out of this philosophy and practice, but I’m confident it will hold up under scrutiny. My hope is that one of these days soon I’ll be able to describe it in a manner that you readers will find helpful. In the meantime, you’ll just have to take it on faith.
