November is related to February by the mood of the flora, fauna and the denizens (well this one anyway) that put up with a month that offers little in the “Joy” category.
Trees are for the most part now bare and the critters have scurried away in hopes of nesting in a habitat that offers a little more warmth than the grey landscape that brings with it clouds, cold, snow, ice rain, and frozen earth. There are no joyous holidays, long weekends, or chance of a outdoor siesta in this month, and perhaps that is why my mood finds itself in this gloomy hole.
No Christmas snow graces the neighborhood, only a cold wind that seems to hum the Gordon Lightfoot song “Wreck of the Edmond Fitzgerald” when the skies of November turn gloomy.
I try to soldier through it, forcing gladness where and when I can. It is tough! Thirty days of leafless trees and bracing wind. My tinnitus, always present, adds to the frustration of being indoors and cocooning. Clocks get turned back to add to the dismal few hours of daylight. Five pm and the dusk is now dark making for a long night.
I wish the gladness and joy would not have to be forced. But wishing is fruitless. Mindful meditation helps, but after a ten minute meditation I find myself back in a rabbit hole, or at best peering into the hole. I need to work three times as hard it seems to get out of the funk, but frustration of depression causes me to react. The space between stimulus and response seems as short as the days are long. I need to get the space bigger to allow for mindful thought to give thanks. Space to be grateful for what I have.