Growing up in southern California, 30 minutes away from the beach, where the rain only lasts a day or two before the sunshine reappears in the sky to warm your face and heart is everything I know. A dozens Christmas mornings in tank tops, mid-80 degree weather and kids who can immediately run outside to play on their bikes and scooters, jacketless. That’s how I remember winter. That’s how it’s always been for me.
It’s amazing what you take for granted when you don’t know any better. Any different. And now that my winter is filled with days where it never hits above 40 degrees I am craving the warmth and the sun that I spent half my life despising with it’s heat, always with the heat. My bones ache (I’m too young, I know) and I just crave to be able to walk outside without having to put on a sweatshirt, a jacket and boots. Just for 5 minutes without freezing my ass off. The thing is, I know winter in Tehachapi is nothing in comparison to half the country. But me and my life filled with sweating in January? I’m so cold, freezing. I’m so ready for just a teensy bit of sunshine and for the wind to be still for just a moment while I sneak outside in my yoga pants, no jacket and soak in some delicious fresh mountain air.