Aaack! Where has March gone? Is it really almost over? Have I really and truly blazed through the better part of this month already? Say it isn’t so.
The thing is, I actually love March in the northwest, and I’m sorry to have dismissed it’s very existence so callously this year. The weather alone deserves to be noted… and especially this year! Snow? Hail? A gorgeously crisp and sun-filled weekend? Sideways-wending slush and rainbows, to boot? In March, all this can be yours… and it has been.
The other thing about March… well, the other thing about my March is the first seedlings of yearly wanderlust that start to root and bud. Without fail, and for as far back as my first teenage March, the third month of the year is a sneaky, pot-stirring kind of companion. The kind of friend that silently hands you train schedules and postcards from Spain and Thailand, while casually, hypothetically planning road trips to nowhere in particular.
“Go… isn’t it time for a change? Go. Something new… doesn’t that sound good? I hear North Dakota is nice this time of year. Go. Maybe it’s time to take a class.”
It’s not just geographical, this urge for change, for wandering into something unexpected. More than some kind of spatial dyspepsia, March for me is the closet clean, the job-search whirlwind, the scattered flurries of research and experimentation in everything from living arrangements to brands of cosmetics and kitty litter. Am I doing enough? Is this the best way to express myself? Am I doing the right things? Is this the way to be happy in my life? I start a lot of new projects in March.
I’m not sure where it came from initially… for a while I had a theory that my pre-spring fever was more like a natural response to the format and schedule of my schooling and extra-curricular interests. In high school and in college, March is the calm before the pre-finals storm. Your last chance to change your mind, change your thesis topic, take a weekend to do nothing before you absolutely have to knuckle down for the long haul… and then again, March is also the time for spring plays and concerts… projects that are all-consuming for a month or three, and then done. Completed. Shelved and ready to be set aside for something new.
But I’m not sure if either of those origin stories really hold up anymore.
It was March when I first realized the husband (then the boyfriend) knew me better than most, and–despite my worries to the contrary–was already learning how to know me even better.
For whatever reason (it was March), I was feeling itchy. I sighed a lot. I got up and walked around rooms, and started a lot of conversations with, “I don’t know… I don’t know what I want to do. But something. I need to do something.”
After one particular session of room-pacing and “I don’t know-ing” I flopped down and apologized… with a big sigh. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“It’s almost Spring,” said the then-boyfriend. “You always get like this in Spring.”
“Yeah. It used to worry me, but now I get it. That’s what you do. You’ll figure it out.”
I think of that every March now. And then I pace. Open windows. Start planning a trip and make a new list of possibilities. And all the while, that sneaky March is nudging me out the door. Time for a change. Go. Follow the wind into April…Go, and see where it takes you.