It is a gorgeous spring day, the leaves brand new and green on the trees at my window, the sunlight filtering down from a blue sky in a luminous watery yellow, and for some reason it makes my heart ache. It makes me feel lonely despite the fact that I am here in the midst of my family, my husband watching English Premier League soccer, my daughter escaping homework by watching the first season of Gossip Girl on her laptop, soon to leave the house to meet up with her friends who took their SATs this morning. She opted to take the ACTs instead, and so has the morning free, but will join the rest of them in the hidden garden on one of their Manhattan rooftops, where they plan to lounge in their sunglasses and slather on sunblock and listen to music and read Cosmo and Glamor and Seventeen and usher in the spring afternoon in the most perfect manner I can imagine.
I envy them, their connectedness and youth, their embrace of their world, their ability to be spontaneous and do. I feel so inert, unable to seize the day, to truly inhabit it. I feel imprisoned somehow, looking out at all that blue and yellow and green from a high window, locked away from it, offended by the way it beckons to us, but not me. I have the strange sensation of not being invited to the party, or if I am invited, not knowing how to join in. I have never loved spring. It demands engagement and lightheartedness and outdoor imagination and I have trouble leaving my house, even to go to work every day, so it helps to have bleak weather outside. I feel less assaulted by my inadequacies under grey skies, on rainy days. But on days like this one, I am at a loss. Stupidly, my heart aches and I want to be anyone but me.
The feeling makes no sense really. None. In a short while I will be going with my husband to the Apple store and maybe after we will walk up Broadway and people watch and maybe go to the park and then I have plans for this evening. I will be meeting up with friends to drink wine and make panini and celebrate birthdays, and talk and lounge and do nothing but what we please. I love these woman and enjoy spending time in their company. This is how I know the moodiness that has invaded me is treacherous chemistry. It is the unconscious playing tricks, telling me that I am not okay. I am wrong, wrong, wrong. Telling me the lie I hold most dear without ever having understood the why.