It’s really the end of summer isn’t it, and not the start of Fall? Not in the mind of New Yorkers. The suede is out and so is the pumpkin spice latte love, but credit the crisp air pressed against my glass door for this feeling of glee, not the calendar which flips on with no hint of affection. 3 more weeks of this, this being on the cusp, this still lit dusk… Fall in this city is the most wondrous thing. One could say it is my good fortune that I have been unlucky in love the past few autumns, of all seasons, and that my hometown was here to heal me when I found myself longing for some sort of cradle. This fall I get to hold the hand of someone wiser and gentler.
This year, I’m working on entering winter with optimism, but at this point it still feels as if the days are doomed to descend into something terrible. Does anyone else feel this way? My preemptive planning includes goal-setting for a winter of growth through sheer force of will. A reading list has begun already, beginning with Henry Kissinger’s 600+ page Diplomacy, the size of which bemuses my fellow commuters. Cooking and wine education are in the works also, beginning with Wine 101 at the Chelsea Wine Vault later this month. Another facet of planning is mood-boosting, through the implementation of 3 life-lines at times of doldrums desperation: 1) a Fresh Spa facial, 2) a haircut, 3) some type of home project that consumes much time and energy.
Too early, this talk of winter. It must be the utter romanticism in me that consistently and prematurely mourns the loss of all things present and not-yet-present. Hey, what about October?
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