Writing With Abandon

It’s 62 degrees in Miami, misty rain, and I’m standing outside waiting for my Lyft to pick me up after a doctor’s check-up with a new PCP. I’m wearing a cotton sweater and a jean jacket, but my hands are freezing, fingernails turning purple under the pink gel polish. I’m shifting my weight from my left foot to my right foot to get some movement in and try to warm myself up, but to no avail. I only start to thaw once I hop into the warmth of the Honda CR-V that picks me up, open the Jetpack app, and start moving my fingers to write this slice.

I repeat. It’s 62 degrees.

When did I become so acclimated to the Florida warmth and sun that my body feels SIXTY-TWO DEGREES as cold?

I remember studying abroad in Barcelona in the spring of 2012 and wanting to break out a dress and sandals when it was 62 degrees (but refraining because then I’d definitely look like the guiri I was).

Or in New York every spring when the temps hit the sixties, rejoicing with the rest of the city by removing our heavy layers and basking in the spring weather.

But since living in Miami for almost five years? I’m comfortable in 80-degree weather. I get chilly when it’s cloudy and in the 70s. I get downright cold when it’s in the 60s. And let’s not think about weather colder than that!

Granted, this morning I fasted in case they needed to take any blood, and I didn’t wear any wool which would have helped. I also didn’t expect the rain so early, nor the 12-minute wait for the Lyft.

But the acclimation (acclimatization?) has been well underway for a while now, and it’s not just to do with the temperature.

In January, when I spent a week and a half in British Columbia, I couldn’t function with the sun rising “so late” and the sky so overcast that I couldn’t even tell when it had risen.

Miami has spoiled me. And it makes me a bit worried for when we eventually move away from here, to a place with real seasons once more. My knitting heart will be happy, but I know I’ll feel the impact of not having mostly 365 days of sun.

Because even when it rains in Miami, the sun usually comes out to play afterwards. Big, dramatic showers and storms followed by epic rainbows and sunsets (literally!).

It’s the pull and tug of my feelings about this city that’s now been my home for a seventh of my life.

Traffic and lack of good public transit? Hate.

Ability to go to the pool most weekends? Love.

Anyway. My hands are warm. 10 minutes from home and ready to jump into work.

But first I know I’ll need a hot tea, my shearling slippers, and a snuggle with my warm pup.