i’m undeniably blue. part of it is directly attributable to the changing of the clocks, i’m sure. every year i find myself dreading the end of daylight savings, because being the delicate little flower that i am, i wilt without lots of sunlight. i need at least 10 hours of vitamin d through the retinas to regulate my hyperphotosensitive serotonin levels. autumn always makes me overly nostalgic, but combine that with nightfall at 4pm and i get downright maudlin. i find myself all verklempt at adverts featuring puppies and toilet roll, drinking endless cups of oversweet tea huddled under the covers, and spending more time than is good for me on memory lane. if there’s a hint of woodsmoke or burning leaves in the air, forget it, i’m a basketcase.

autumn is the one time of year when i really get homesick. when i really reminisce, ruminate, contemplate how my life would’ve/could’ve/should’ve been different, if only. and i’m not even homesick for anything real or tangible, (although some pretty leaves and halloween candy would not go amiss) but instead homesick for a feeling of security and certainty and comfort. homesick for a place i can be at ease with myself, with all the choices i’ve made and things i’ve done. homesick for the kind self-assuredness you can only feel when you have nothing to lose. i wish i had my *things* around me now because i’d love to just go through all my collected memories and have a good cry. but my bad poetry, childhood photos, and birthday cards are all 3000 miles away. not that i need them to get all misty eyed.

there are definite pitfalls to being as headstrong as i am. i’m not a good decisionmaker, but rather a stubborn one – so when i make a decision, i never turn back, but instead spend forever after second-guessing myself. and i am also, therefore, loathe to admit mistakes. if i accidentally walked out of the house in the morning with only one shoe on, i’d have to walk around all day calling it a deliberate fashion statement. it’s easy to be decisive, but not so easy to live with the aftermath. so what if?

what if i had gone to costa rice before university?
what if i had gone to the small all-women’s college instead of mcgill?
what if i hadn’t gotten engaged after 6 weeks at age 19?
vwhat if i hadn’t dropped out of uni to move to nyc?
what if i hadn’t married at 24?
what if i’d had kids with my first husband?
what if i hadn’t decided to divorce him?
what if i hadn’t left new york?
what if i hadn’t decided to move to london alone?
what if i’d gone home after that first year here?
what if i’d decided not to go to the xmas party where i met j?

these questions mean nothing to anyone but me, but i am homesick for some reassurance. because in a way, i wanted *all* those options, and i feel the phantom limb ache of lives i’ve never lead. it’s not that i am dissatisfied with my life, because overall i’m very happy. i just like to brood now and then, i suppose. i need to try the paths not taken, if only in my head, and then grieve for the possibilities lost. i don’t regret any of it. but i tend to leap before i look… and once a year i am forced to actually stand still and be quiet for a bit, to pay attention to where i’ve been and where i’m going. and in doing so, find a new appreciation for where i am now.

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