Out of the darkness
These early-dark months are difficult for a lot of us. When the sun sets before dinnertime around here, my mood starts to match what’s happening outside.
Maybe it’s that affliction known as SAD – seasonal affective disorder – or maybe it’s just that I’m someone who thrives in sunshine, but I get grumpy and don’t feel like doing much from now until the sun comes back around in March.
My friend and I were talking about this the other day and she mentioned that a coworker uses a light therapy box – the source of artificial light that mimics sunlight – and that it seems to help with his wintertime blues. And then I remembered.
I have one of those. Somewhere in the move from the other house to this one, I’d forgotten about the box. And so I went searching for it. That led me to the closet on the main floor, the place that has become a catch-all for anything annoying, extraneous, unnecessary, semi-necessary or off-season. That the space is deep and behind a closed door has allowed me to toss things there rather than deal with them in the moment. The last thing I’d stashed in there were the cushions from the patio furniture, four plump tuffets that I won’t need anytime soon. I extracted them, and then stepped back to survey the shambles, the chunks of everyday things that had somehow settled themselves into the space like a game of Tetris. I began to unpack.
The first layer had my yoga mat, some cycling clothing, a springtime door wreath and my daughter’s college degree certificate rolled up in a tube. The next layer was all wrapping paper and ribbon and the spool of packing tape I could have used about a dozen times since I threw it in there. Along the sides were hoses for the central vacuum system I have never tried.
At the bottom I found a box of old photographs, mostly of my kids when they were really little, but what mother needs that passing-of-time nostalgia in the dark of winter? Not this one. I quickly put the top back on the box and pushed it to the back of the closet. Had I indulged in the photos I would have sat there on the floor for three hours, looking at the chubby faces of those babies, getting all teary.
We all have too much stuff. About 1 in 5 Americans rent storage spaces. And although I’m not one of them, I get it. My closet was full of things I don’t need, want, or know what to do with. It was a holding place for the many objects of my waffling.
Not everything in there was junk, of course. I found the throw pillow holding the quote from the movie, “It’s a Wonderful Life” that my friend gave me. And I found the Christmas tree topper that missed all of last season because who wants to go in there and look for it? And I found a few of the binders full of these columns my dad clips and saves for me.
And the light therapy box? It was there in the back corner entangled in the vacuum hoses. I pulled it out and plugged it in; its face lit right up, bright as ever. I’ve got it on my desk as I’m writing this.
After all this time, I brought it out of the dark. I’m hoping it will do the same for me.