PS. I mentioned the calendar thing at least twice. I honestly believe the Gregorian calendar we’re using is completely out of alignment with anything we live by; it’s moderately useful as a tool but irrelevant for us as humans.

I was born in July. All my life I found something strange about celebrating my birthday: it was hardly a celebration. It took me 26 years to realize it’s not a problem with me, but with the month. July combines several things that, together, are a disaster:

  • too much sun & heat
  • wild expectations
  • being tired; who isn’t in July?
  • even more expectations.

This, together, caused the experience to be miserable every single time. Every year I long towards the end of the summer more and more. Not for it to end – that would be foolish – but for the few days where you can already relax after that exhausting summer and the days are still warm enough that you can.

My year starts on September. It’s the moment I shed the summer skin, go back to what’s most important to me, when I regain control over my life after a period of craze. The year, viewed this way, starts with a calm, fruitful period, moves on to the Christmas time and winter, then the tiring and weird spring, and finally the hectic summer which feels like a wild party.

I could go on like this much longer. Instead, I’ll dust off my old trusty Kindle and try to find a good book on the subject.

PS. I promise not to get existential on my blog too often. ;)

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