Michigan!

I decided to revert back to my old habit of throwing on tennis shoes mid-evening and going for a 'quick' run on a pre-determined, overly familiar route. In Michigan, January and February (and, oh lord, even March) can become so dreary that the collective mood is as gray and dead as the clouds that loom above us. But, occasionally, there will be a winter day that the sun decides to show up for and the icicles no longer look like daggers, but rather like melting popsicles. The sky is blue again, and you can actually tell where one cloud ends and another begins. Days like this are so preciously rare that strangers begin to converse, which, in February, is almost like giving someone you've never met a love note. The sun is bold and proud, and color glows everywhere distinguishably. It becomes beautiful again.

The summers here in Holland are unmatched. In fact, during the summer, I can't believe anyone would even bother living in the bi-peninsular state unless they were settled on the west side. Life is bursting from the lighthouses; and restaurants are packed with people with sunburn, open shirts, and sandy feet. The Grand Rapids is surprisingly artsy, so there are outdoor fairs or displays to attend weekly throughout the summer. Everyone responds to the weather with such gratitude, making up for the months they spent in hibernation.

Having married a Michigander, I've heard about how wonderful Michigan is for years. Josh even published a book about our state because he loved the idea of promoting it and having an excuse to experience more of it. (Case in point: taking his pregnant wife to the U.P. for a 'babymoon' before Jack was born. This is not a Texan's idea of a good time). For years, I overlooked the beauty that is here because I didn't have windshield wipers to get rid of the snow. It's all I could see. I couldn't appreciate the sailboats on Lake Macatawa because, in a few months, I'd have to start my car an hour before driving it and watch my house become an igloo.

Today was the unique compromise of the two polarized seasons, and it's this kind of day that I live for. The air was crisp enough to make breathing fluid and effortless throughout my run, and instead of looking down at my next step--fearing that I'd land on black ice and fall backward--I was able to look ahead at the long stretch of sidewalk that my feet couldn't cover fast enough. The tree branches that hung above me were picturesque with the sun rays poking through the holes. Even when my ipod would shuffle to a disappointing 90s tune (normally this gives me an excuse to stop, rest, and find a worthy song), I couldn't help but run faster and farther with an ear-to-ear smile on my face. I felt like I was slicing the wind, blowing in its gusts past the same stores and buildings I've run by a thousand times; but today, I noticed.

I only wish I could create this happiness when the sun is hiding, giving its love to wiser states who chose to be down south. Like many things in my life, when I run in the winter, I'm so consumed by the next block of sidewalk, the next patch of ice or melted puddle, that the run has very little contentment. All I see is gray; all I'm concerned about is my next little step or frozen finger tips. I don't even think to try a new street, notice a 'for sale' sign, or watch kids making snow angels. I honestly believe I miss half of my life because my eyes are down, not up. My sky is gray, not blue. My belief that the sun is still there is small and useless.

Today was a reminder to all of us that the sun IS coming! But regardless of what is going on around me, I'm going to miss most of it if I'm only looking at my tiny next step.