Honest to Godfrey, as my mother used to say, these ever-earlier sunrises are making me so happy. I went to sleep last night saddled with a bevy of real-deal worries but woke with an enormous grin plastered across my features. Even at 6:15 the world was shining, the sky was rosy, and my little cat’s tiger eyes were gleaming with the pleasure I felt as well. I just love how, no matter how firmly entrenched winter still seems to be, the sun keeps greeting us a few minutes earlier each day. And while nothing is finer than clear, early morning sunshine, the real reason this makes me so glad is because it highlights my favorite fact: As long as we are on this planet, we are sure to experience change–and not all of it will be bad.
This is one of my favorite images of Marilyn Monroe: lolling in a doorframe, awash in green, and decked out in a fur, a hopeful little strawboat hat, and a dash of lipstick. I imagine her seducing the precipice of spring as only she could. This time of year, as snow falls outside my window for the eighth time in a month, I cling to such glamour. It’s the sort only someone with Marilyn’s infectious capacity for joy and appreciation could muster.
While it is true that, if I did not love New York so much I would remain a conscientious objector to all things winter for the rest of my life, tromping through the snow yesterday to drink tea by a friend’s fireplace certainly conferred a Little Women-style joy. And on the subway later that day, looking around at everyone squeezed into mittens and scarves and hats and big squishy parkas filled me with an unspeakable tenderness. No matter how influential or world-weary or just plain wicked those humans might’ve been in other contexts, in that moment they looked like the innocent kindergarteners we all once were. Behold winter’s timeless, sweet-hearted melancholy.