The chirping of the birds this morning carries recollection and nostalgia within its notes. The crisp, cool morning air of springtime, a precursor of the warmer afternoons later in the day, inspires creativity and love, invoking imaginations to further potential. I love Spring more and more each year, and with each new round of this season comes the conjuring of old feelings and the deep bubbling of memories.
Funny how the very brush of the air upon your skin can affect you and bring with it tsunamis of aromatic nostalgia.
Last year the impact of these fond and sometimes odd recollections was much less forceful as it seems to be this year. Apparently I was dead inside last year. It’s a possibility. Or it could very well be that I was simply blind to the beauty and the life and the pure inspiration around me that appears when nature and souls come into bloom.
Different weather conditions encapsulate different moods and memories for me. Cloudy, rainy spring days bring to mind (for whatever reason) this one day when my grandma and grandpa were visiting my family’s new home in Missouri for the first time. I think I was sixteen. We (my mom, brother, grandparents and I) had journeyed from our little nip of a town into the “big city” of Springfield for the weekly piano lesson that both my brother and I took. It was a big deal. Any store worth going to was in Springfield, and no matter who you were, it was never a good idea to pass up a trip into town.
So we went to our lessons and the other stops at random locations. Soon clouds began accumulating overhead, and I seem to recall tornadoes being in the forecast, so we began heading back eastward. On the way home, however, we detoured around Lake Springfield in hopes of scoping out a promising fishing hole suitable enough for grandpa.
Still fully embarrassed by my whole family’s coming to drop me off at my lesson, I just wanted to be alone in my room at home. I’m sure there were other more important reasons for this desire, since I was sixteen. Even so, I sat stewing in the third row of the family SUV, wondering hopelessly when exactly I would finally get to have a “normal” teenage life.
Equipped with my not-so-relevent iPod nano 2nd generation, I was so positive I could take on the world. Tokio Hotel, a favorite emo-pop band of mine back then, strummed emotionally in my ears, melting my heart and making my embarrassment a little less painful.
Running through the monsoon
Beyond the world
Til’ the end of time
Where the rain won’t hurt
Fighting the storm
Into the blue
And when I lose myself I think of you
Together we’ll be running somewhere new
Through the monsoon
I can still hear the gentle lull of the lyrics, so relatable to me and so healing. Because let’s face it: this whole scenario WAS that at the time–painful. I was looking for something, not knowing what on earth life had in store for me–a young girl in a new world called Missouri, so foreign to everything I had known in California. I had so much to learn and so much to be sad about.
The looming storms forecast for that day and the drizzly, despondent sky sculpted the perfect illustration of how I felt many days throughout my years as a teenager. Just like any person that age, emotions oftentimes took the reigns, and all logic telling me I had a wonderful life with people who loved me vaporized into the clouds.
I’m still happy that I understand and empathize with my teenage self even today. I hope my ability to do so will make me a better parent because of it someday.
All in all, I love the feeling of seasons changing. It’s like a new chance and a new hope of finding out more about life’s joys and challenges just waiting to be explored.