New Year’s was always a time I loved because I looked back at my year and checked a list of boxes of what I had “done” and what I had accomplished. Then I made an even bigger list for the next year. The naive, innocent me felt a sense of calm and order by telling myself I had it all together. I made time capsules. I put my resolutions on to a pros and cons list. I cleaned my closets. I started diets. I tried “dry January”, then I tried “survive January”.
Once I gave up on New Year’s as a start to the year, I moved towards Lunar New Year. This was the real, true new year, the turning of the astrological clock, the resetting of the planets. I would read my horoscope, wondering if the Year of the Dragon would bring me love, fortune, or luck. I had “let go” of the control, right? There were no more lists?
Soon after comes Valentine’s day. Winter doldrums have always haunted me. I thought that by moving to Southern California I would be rid of glum of winter. No matter how much I meditate, avoid alcohol, and eat clean, the sun still depressingly sets at 4:30 PM.
March is when the tides start to turn. It is the start of many of my best friend’s birthdays, the Aries moon in me adores their enigmatic spirit. It’s my grandfather’s birthday, and even though he is no longer with us, I make an orange cake and think of him. It’s Saint Patrick’s Day, a frivolous and ridiculous holiday, but one that reminds me of my best friends in college, putting green glitter on our faces and drinking green beer at the rugby house. Flirting with boys! Is there anything that screams “springtime” more than flirting?
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