Strike a match

I'm in battle. The dark, deep-freeze winter has stolen so many things I love — outdoor walks, energy to write when I get home from work, sunbeams. 

I know it's not really a fight. I just have to wait her out. My task is to find alternative sources of warmth. 

There's the physical sources. Strike a match, for instance. I do so at least once a day. There's comfort in a spontaneous blue flame. Upon getting home from work, I habitually light the candles in my kitchen, and later incense sticks on my bedstand. 

Then there's my Rennai heater. With pushes of a button, the heat can easily be cranked to 70 degrees. I warm my feet with it while I wait for dinner to cook, sometimes soup or pasta or a baked potato.

But, I'm finding that these sources of comfort are as quickly extinguished as they are lit or turned up. That I need something more long-lasting. I hesitate to say that this search becomes one of spirituality at the risk of my mother telling me to go to church. 

I woke up Friday to face another frigid day, my bedroom window crusted with hoar frost. My first thought was to nuzzle my head under the blankets and pretend it was still night. I fought that urge with second thought: You're not tired. Get your ass out of bed.

And then another phrase came to mind. Not my own this time, but one from an article I read the week before: Build your own damn house. It came from the founder of the Trouble coffee shops in San Francisco. The article tracked the origins of the artisan toast to Giulietta Carrelli, who struggled for years to stay employed due to mental illness. The phrase became her motto when she finally decided to start her own business, Trouble, and build something that would not only keep her employed but also allow her build a support network to better manage her illness. (The article is quite well written. Read it here.)

While my own emotional slump is certainly less drastic, Guilietta's do-it-yourself attitude seemed like a sound approach. Rather than waiting for more pleasing circumstances to return (presumably with the warm weather), I resolved to create for myself a reason to get out of bed.

With that, I did. I fired up my computer and crafted an email to a nearby youth center asking if they might be able use a volunteer — with experience teaching English and working with inner-city youth — who had mornings free.

I later described my burst of animation to my friend Harum. She suggested that my email header might have appropriately read "Please, give my life meaning." We both laughed because it was true.