As far as cold mornings go, this morning was nothing to write home about, but still the onslaught of arctic temps and winter weather during the past month have started to make the dark mornings feel especially dark and especially cold, even if they are no longer elemental extremes. The cumulative effect of cold cheeks and numb fingers has intensified my longing for spring, though anything above 30 degrees feels surprisingly encouraging. 40 makes me feel borderline giddy, or really anything that allows my gloves and hat to say at home. Someone mentioned earlier this week that we are officially halfway through winter, so here’s hoping that we’re embarking on downhill sprint to warmth and light.
Blogging has been a precariously stop and start project for me here, as I’m sure you could deduce from the number of, and time in between, my posts. I’m afraid that every time I sit down to write I end up writing about writing itself, and not about life or my physical adventures. There’s been a lot of buzz lately about running and storytelling, or running as a way to tell your story, and this idea keeps getting stuck in my craw. I suppose this is why I return to this space time and time again. I get easily lost in social media; trying to connect with so many people I don’t know is challenging for me as a naturally private and introverted person, but there’s also the draw to attempt to be part of a community. Though, like my in-person interactions I tend to hone in on those few familiar faces.