The Clunky Boots of Life and Other Mid-Winter Blues

I live in Chicago.  Chicago in February is not the easiest place to live. Despite global warming (and if you don’t believe in global warming, are you sure I am the right blogger for you?), February in Chicago is messy — the cold, gray, slushy kind of messy.  The bitter, sad, will it ever end kind of messy.  Messy.

Ugh.
Ugh.

This morning, getting ready to bring the kiddo to school, I was keenly aware of the monstrosities called “snow boots” I was wearing.  They are large and clumsy and supremely unattractive.  When I walk in them, it’s hard to shake just how different they feel on my feet, how awkward.  And heavy.  I kind of drag my heels and then the rubber makes me trip.

Looking down at my boots today, as I bumbled along the snowy sidewalk with my boy, I realized just how potent a metaphor these boots are for life.  So often, life is messy and clumsy and awkward and cold and sometimes, even bitter.  At least my life.  Maybe you live in La La Land where it’s always sunny and pleasant and warm and joyful.  I live in a world where children get sick and die and family members need lots of help and when I write things on the Internet people tell me how much I suck (in excruciating detail).

Bah!

I am in the thick of it.  That mid-winter semi-depression that gets worse before it gets better.  Yuck.  But knowing folks who have experienced depression to levels I can’t even imagine, I just slog my way through it.  I strap my boots on and go. I don’t have a choice.  People need me.  They rely on me.  That need is maybe the only thing that keeps me going some days.  And I am grateful for it.  Lordy, I am grateful for the many people in my life who need me.

So you’ll forgive me if I take a little longer to get back to your messages and requests.  You’ll forgive me if I only serve sloppy joes and turkey burgers and frozen lasagne for dinner.  You’ll forgive me if the thank you notes from my boy’s birthday that were written weeks ago are still sitting waiting to be addressed.  You’ll forgive me if I am not sufficiently cooing over your baby and puppy photos on the Facebook.  You’ll forgive me if I am fantasizing about curling up with the latest episode of The Bachelor under my cozy down comforter while I smile and nod vacantly during chit chat.

I got my boots on, folks.  Let’s do this.

If you like this, for the love of God, “like” this by hitting that little button above.  Throw me a bone, will ya?

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