It's finally happening. After months of icy winds and exploding manholes and snowpocalypses, I think we can officially call it: Spring is HAPPENING! It is no longer this illusive concept which simply exists on the Instagram feeds of all of my friends back in Texas. It is here. In New York. New York City. WHERE I LIVE.
And this Saturday was the springiest of all spring days that I have ever experienced. Honestly, I'm trying to think of the perfect cultural reference to describe the sheer joy that was Saturday afternoon, but I'm coming up short. The closest I can think of is that scene in The Wizard of Oz when the house lands in Munchkintown and Dorothy steps outside from her world of black and white to a world of vivid color. Only, it was better than that, especially because nothing about Saturday afternoon involved inadvertently murdering a witch (seriously, shouldn't Dorothy be, like, at least a bit more traumatized over that whole thing?)
Every New Yorker flocked to green spaces on Saturday. We ate Mister Frostees, gave each other knowing glances and smiles, and drank cocktails at outdoor tables. All of us. At least that's what it seemed like. The population of NYC genuinely seemed to double in size. The picture above was taken in Union Square, where I spent a good part of the day, but Gothamist shared some pretty amazing pictures of Central Park looking like a giant quilt of humans. Needless to say, we were excited.
This weekend reminded me of how much I love living in a place with actual seasons. Back when I lived in Texas, even though we had queso and bluebonnets and pretty much every wonderful thing on the planet, what we didn't really have was a vast difference between our seasons. It would be hot, it would be less hot, it would be semi-chilly, and then it would be hot again.
But living in New York, I feel like I get to experience the full scope of seasonal beauty. This weekend, as I marveled at how the trees seemed to explode with blooms, I was reminded of the blatant ways in which seasons accurately mirror the human experience. If you'll indulge my sentimentality for a minute, allow me to say this: In life, a metaphorical sun really does come after a metaphorical snow, even if it comes later than we would like. Metaphorical blossoms really do metaphorically bloom from things that once appeared metaphorically dead. I know it's cheesy, and I know it's been said before, but give me a break, I'm still new to this whole seasons thing.
This weekend, I came to realize that while flowers are beautiful things at any time of the year, they are practically a miracle after a miserable winter. And maybe life is like that too.
How are you enjoying Spring (literally or metaphorically)?