Clouds on my shoulders

I sometimes wonder if the first few bouts of winter rain have a direct connections to my brain, like an invisible but study fishing line dangling from the sky. I've mistaken this in the past as less my mood being puppeted by the weather, and more of the clouds being able to read my mind a little, as a way to explain the heavyness I feel when the clouds are so low they almost graze my shoulders.

I know I am not depressed, as in the Depression-with-a-capital-D whose symptoms I can list off like counting to ten, as the first set of criteria any budding clinician will memorize. It is more that the sudden shift from red leaves against a blue sky to a permeating damp grey that shocks my system. I will adapt within a matter of weeks, with my umbrella in hand, hopping around puddles. But in the first few days, the fog just emphasizes my natural pessimisms and less desirable quirks. I think too much to begin with, but put me in a chilly bus, my eyes peering out through a hole in the condensation to the world outside, and I start reflecting on the past, present, future, small-scale, large-scale, whatever. I become downright broody. Lyrics that normally fly by on a sunny day are suddenly absorbed and personalized. I'm sensitive on the best of days, but the first week of heavy rain, I find myself wondering about unreturned phone calls and emails, about my ability to pull off the hat I am wearing, about the essay I just handed in, about whether I've lost my ability to connect with people through writing.

If I do have a skill, though, it is to keep my feet moving at the same pace as my brain. I've learned that pausing is the quickest way to start sinking, drowning in these little whirlpools. When I do step in a puddle, I don't stop to contemplate the misery of the wet socks between my toes, but rather keep the rhythm of the next step. I've actually found there to be a lot of truth to that 12-step adage of "Fake it 'til you make it", that by pretending that this gloomy day is just another day, I can slip under the radar of others, and eventually convince myself.

Another aphorism that holds more truth than cliche in moments like this is "This too shall pass." Even if the rain keeps plummeting through to March, the rain in my head will dry up quickly enough.