Santosha (contentment) has challenged me to a duel this week as the first stirrings of spring have come to New England. Buds of perennials are coming up through half-frozen mulch in the beds. Perky crocus flowers open extravagantly at the warmest part of the day and then furtively huddle back into themselves when the cold returns. College students taunt the gods by wearing shorts despite the patches of snow stubbornly remaining on the ground. The gym is suddenly filled with people realizing that bikini season is looming. The neighbors are out raking and sweeping the driveways before the street sweeper comes. And I, who was content a mere few weeks ago with life, begin my own spring ritual of battling gut-gripping restlessness.
On my father’s side of the family, there was a mysterious aunt who I never met. Aunt Elsie would appear to me only in pictures. I seem to recall one of her perched aloft a motorbike in front of the pyramids, wearing a turban. Or maybe even that was a product of my imagination. It’s hard to remember how Elisie’s legend grew. I only know for sure that she had a whopping case of wanderlust and was not a typical gray haired Auntie. I inherited a bit of Elsie.
My parents also had, and still have, a major appetite for change. They moved for no reason other than to move. My high school boyfriend used to joke that the furniture was moved every time he came over. My father has had countless careers.
All of these things add up to an inherited case of restlessness, which in my case, manifests itself most ferociously at this time of year. Something about the aggressive urgings of nature in Spring call to me and, as Robert Plant sang, “I’ve got to ramble.”
So, I am working incredibly hard to feel contentment. I do not have to rearrange furniture, paint a wall, plant a new bed in the garden, buy a house, change my job, or change anything for that matter. I can simply be happy with things as they are. It is going to be hard as life in my bucolic college town bursts with life-force from the impending changes that will come in the next two months as the earth explodes with green, the houses all go on the market, and about 30,000 students begin their exodus.
Wish me luck as I have no way to take off for an adventure this Spring. May I stay planted happily where I am!
