Kindly avert your eyes if you notice a typo. Please and thank you! Peace and love!

Do more crossword puzzles. Try one new recipe a month. Make four new friends.

Resolutions are tricky. They are used to encourage personal growth and goals but can oftentimes nurture disappointment. I’ve had my fair share of failed resolutions, and will even forget about some due to the sheer number and variety of resolutions I write. It’s a low blow, failing a self-made requirement that will only impact me. Because of this pattern, I don’t have an issue with repeating resolutions. There is no rule that resolutions must be achieved in a single year. For four years, I’ve worked very hard to uphold one specific resolution, and it’s safe to say that maintaining it changed my life.

Appreciate the seasons.

That sentence might not connect as strongly to someone who lives in a place with minimal weather change. My whole life, I’ve been lucky enough to experience four seasons every year. When I was a child, my mother wrote a short story inspired by me; it was about a little girl who always wished it were summer when it was winter and always wished it were winter when it was summer. She’d stand at the door and press her face against the glass, letting out a pitiful sigh because the sight outside was never satisfactory. I acted like this for many years.

When I became a teenager, I forgot all about this adolescent qualm and couldn’t care less about the seasons. Life revolved around soccer and friends and homework and secrets. The years kept on, and I inherited the curse of severe seasonal depression, especially in college, when I still didn’t know how to take care of myself properly, nor did I have many friends. I wasn’t a big partier, and I also wasn’t an adult. Fresh air, nourishment, community—these were all foreign topics.

Appreciating the seasons is easier said than done. I live in southern Maine, but I’m originally from northern Minnesota; my family moved out east when I was nine. When I left for college, I ventured to a mysterious land called Boston. After graduation, I returned to Maine, got a great job, and eventually moved into a wonderful apartment.

I first made this resolution in 2022. Resolution-wise, this year was a failure due to unforeseen personal tragedies that altered the year entirely. Months later, in 2023, I embarked on a semester abroad in Ireland. During this period, I developed a fear so dire that it took me over a year to conquer: the passing of time.

I became paralyzed by decision-making. Ireland has notoriously unpredictable, rainy weather—I let the gloom dictate my life because I didn’t understand how to make the most of my environment. This made me stagnant. The months that followed (particularly after returning home to the rainiest summer in Maine in decades) left me depressed and isolated. I would have mental breakdowns over a nice day because I didn’t know how to use the time in a way I felt worthwhile. Sunshine was scarce, and I seemed to only have work on days when the sun was shining. Gray clouds and rain always governed my days off. Instead of doing anything, I just ended up doing nothing.

The seasons spiralled me into a vicious cycle. I felt I had no control over my life and that each day was a day wasted if the weather wasn’t “good.” I struggled for so long, unable to figure out what I was doing wrong. I wasted so much time worrying about wasted time.

Seasons are now everything to me. They affect my life in every way. They are the most ever-present part of my days, and it’s unfortunate that so many people neglect them. It’s overwhelming for me to think about how wonderful they are, and every day I feel a crippling sense of duty to go outside and experience them. It honestly makes me a little nauseous when I look through my camera roll and relive all the iterations of seasons I’ve experienced. I have Pinterest boards for each season and will scroll through all four every day. My stomach flips and knots up like I have a crush. There is a genuine worry that I harbor about missing a lovely, beautiful day as much as I worry about missing an unpleasant, dreary one.

Every morning, regardless of the season, I get myself out of bed and go for a walk. I make it a point to go for a walk outside at least once a day. This has become my ritual. Some days are definitely easier to motivate for; sometimes I find myself idling at the departure, and others I am so eager to get outside that my feet can’t move fast enough to the door. Either way, I end up outside. Throughout this practice, I’ve come to love the seasons because I’ve taken the time to understand them.

I grew up in a state known for cold, snowy winters and moved to another state with a similar reputation. Winter is tricky because it is harsh and dark. Throughout my 23 winters, I’ve learned that those characteristics offer a challenge:

Seek the joy.

It may seem like finding the beauty in winter is the hardest, but it’s always there. Winter is vulnerable, both for ourselves and outside in the world. It’s cold, dark, and difficult. I won’t lie: I do find winter hard to live through. I will always catch myself complaining, whether it’s about the temperature, the lack of daylight, or how many layers I have to wear. Complaining is a necessary coping mechanism in winter, but I try not to let that go on for too long. It’s the jealousy that I need to silence the most. Jealousy toward people who live in the warmth, or at least somewhere that is not as cold. I feel my blood boil against the wind chill every time I see a photo of someone lounging on a tropical beach with blue water or frolicking through meadows in California on a January day. I turn green with envy like the grass, upset for reasons that could be a whole essay of their own.

The challenge of winter can feel infinite, but I remember that the triumph of getting through it is more worthwhile to me than useless thoughts of lifestyle comparison. Each winter, I prove to myself that I am strong-willed. Winter is resilient—that means we can be, too. The feeling of fleeting warm sun on my face after days of darkness and cold can energize me for weeks. That is the intoxicating hope of wintertime. The fulfillment and satisfaction of making it to the first warm day of the year help me appreciate how special winter really is. I recently read a wonderful piece by Rachel Schwartzmann that offered so many excellent insights and recommendations for existing during winter, and I encourage you all to read it.

Every time it snows, I have to go for a walk. Snow is an incredible phenomenon that I can never believe I am fortunate enough to experience every year—its blanket of silence pairs with an almost overstimulating visual of details that stand out underneath the flakes. The pastel color palette of winter will pair with the most vibrant blue sky you’ve ever seen. A distinct marker for me throughout the seasons is the change in the sky’s blueness. Though it remains the “same” color, its hue is ever-changing during the year, just like the weather.

I’ll watch the winter blue sky get covered by clouds, the snow that falls from them eventually turning into a frigid, continuous rain. Spring in Maine is a collection of rain and complaining about rain. Last year, we experienced an abnormally rainy stint—12 consecutive weekends of rain. April showers brought more May showers, and then June showers, but the showers actually started in March. It felt like a prank: a prolonged punishment after surviving the winter. For those of us with a Monday-Friday job schedule, we worked through perfect, sunny weekdays only to have the weekends deliver the infamous forecast. Don’t think I’m forgetting mud season, either. During these months, we swap icy sidewalks for grimey, muddy paths. Pick your poison.

Even with the rainy weekends, the days grew longer like they do every spring. My walks became a saving grace, allowing me more time outside when the rain stopped (or accepting the forecast and wearing my raincoat). The ground thawed. The earth woke up.

Spring embraces inconsistencies. The days are not linear—sometimes it snows in April when the crocuses and snowdrops are already flourishing. These juxtapositions will suddenly crash into a full springtime bloom. Colors outside slowly brighten into Technicolor as we wake up from the wintertime dream, saturated in a sweet, sickening explosion of tulips and lilacs. Now it is time to breathe the fresh air.

We welcome summer with open arms. June might be the most perfect month out of the whole year. Green, fruitful, and alive. Summer has just begun, and we leap headfirst into the sunshine of July. I was born on a perfect July day—sunny, blue sky, and puffy white clouds. Summer has always been a time of ambition and endless possibilities, not only for me, but for everyone. Celebrations are in order because we can finally reap the fruits of our labor. Now we have fun!

Historically, summer was a major trigger for my anxiety. I grappled with how to spend what felt like ephemeral time and weather, so perfect that I could never engage with it “properly.” Last summer was my first summer with a full-time job. Although it was not as intense as previous years, I felt the panic return, knowing I had to spend so much of the week at my workplace. Instead of letting this fear paralyze me, I recognized that summer would still be waiting. I planned morning activities, went for walks during my lunch breaks, and truthfully, lucked out with a boss who doesn’t mind if I sit outside to do my work.

There is a never-ending feeling to summer, basking in the kisses of the golden rays and dancing through the fingers of crashing waves. This time of year is best described through one of my favorite poems: “Let July be July,” by Morgan Harper Nichols. I recommend reading the whole thing (!), but this is the most widely known excerpt:

I remember every version of myself during these months, the ones that have been, and think toward the ones that will be. A childhood of hot, humid days surrounded by miles of Midwestern fields seemed infinite. I’d jump into the pool and eat popsicles on the porch, then race inside as the thunderheads loomed over the flat skyline, eagerly awaiting their arrival. Counting the seconds between the great lightning bolts and their booms, I still couldn’t help but wish it were winter.

So much is changing around you / but you are changing, too.

Nostalgia always carries over into fall, maybe even more so than during summer. The smell of fall air creates a pit in my stomach, conjuring memories of back-to-school seasons past. From child to adult, the fall is academic, vigorous, and full of new beginnings. Though it is a season beautifully painted by death, fall defies the odds. People love it, romanticize it, travel near and far to my state to leaf-peep the New England way. The leaves changing colors might be the prettiest finale to experience. Joy resonates under every crunch of fallen leaves on the ground, the children jumping into piles with a giddy excitement. Fall is so fleeting, which might be a perfect representation of life.

I’m lucky to have each year to feel each feeling all over, adding another 365 days’ worth of happiness and tribulations. We’re all lucky—lucky to live in a place, to be on this planet. Some have luckier circumstances. Others have been dealt bad cards. Time will keep ticking, regardless of the day, the weather, and the season.

The solution to my ongoing battle against time wasn’t exactly an explicit answer. Mostly, it was going to therapy (sorry). I had just graduated from college and didn’t know what to do with my life—I still don’t. While living with my parents, I had plenty of time, so I started going on my walks. I walked every day, always outside, through each season, and watched them slowly change. My small town became an infinite pool of visual opportunity and creative stimulation. I found meaning in my time by walking through the seasons with a newfound curiosity and urge to explore, each step loosening the hold sadness and anxiety had on my mindset.

This year, I have a resolution to savor my time. I always ask myself where the time went, even if it was well used. Though I appreciate them so greatly these days, each season still comes and goes. For years, I have found it difficult to appreciate where I am at the moment (literally and figuratively). Once again, this will lead me to become obsessed with comparison. I always feel like I should be doing something else or that what I am doing is the wrong choice. These haunting thoughts linger until I can finally expel them through my exorcism of reality checks.

I am lucky! I repeat to myself. I am lucky!

I let time go to waste because I keep looking toward a future that doesn’t exist yet. It’s my life to use and lose. The choice to live where I live, what I’m doing with my life—I only critique them because I engage with a made-up expectation I created myself, for myself. When I reflect on periods of depression, I somehow still manage to find things to miss. Perhaps that’s the repressing of negative memories, but I think I can just finally see the world without the sadness clogging my vision. I wish I had spent more time appreciating where I was and let myself enjoy what I was doing there. It makes me sad remembering how, in the moment, I wished so badly that it were different, that I was somewhere better. But somewhere better wouldn’t have been enough.

The record of my life is all around me, and it’s constantly redirecting. I see my days through the routes I walk and the photos I take, watching my surroundings change while realizing I am, too. It’s important to notice the details of your life. Before I made my resolution, I wasn’t practicing the art of observing to my full potential. This is your life! Take in your surroundings and their lives, too. We are an ecosystem of existence, and the fact that I get to be a part of something as wonderful as change is enough fulfillment in itself.

The end of winter is approaching in Maine. I am truthfully very excited for spring, but that doesn’t take away from how appreciative I am of the proper, freezing winter we’ve had. That said, the sun is setting later, past 6:00pm even, and I have a hard time containing my excitement. Existing in the cold has not been seamless, and that has challenged my routines. Some days have been too cold to walk in the morning. Some days have been too cold to walk outdoors altogether. That’s just another day—it does not define my tomorrow.

The first year I tried to appreciate the seasons, I failed. A few years later, I have it down to an art. My mindset toward the seasons wasn’t an immediate change, but a gradual practice that took time and determination. Make the days worthwhile, regardless of what it looks like outside your window.

But most importantly, don’t forget to go for a walk.

What excites me is that I know my days will always look different in ways I cannot control - the weather, the lighting in a room, the color of the sky at sunset, the people I pass on the sidewalk. Though my days sometimes feel the same, there will always be visually diverse aspects. Reminding myself to look forward to those differences is, what I consider, the easiest yet most important way to live my life.

Hello all! I hope to make this a weekly series to document the many photos I take with the feelings and happenings that go along with them. Due to this idea occurring mid-week, this post will be a test run - just a one-day overview - but still quite in-depth to the point of bordering on a personal essay. Maybe I will only write about one day in my week or maybe I will write about all seven - I haven’t quite decided. I still wanted to share a little something and see how it goes! Stay tuned. - AG

Sunday, January 12th

The last day of this weekend involved a lot of time outside and with family. I have two older brothers: Raleigh, 33, and Parker, 28. For age comparison, I am 22. The three of us live completely different lives, let alone look nothing alike.

I had spent Saturday night at my boyfriend’s apartment in Portland. Justin (said boyfriend) lives on Munjoy Hill, and for those unfamiliar with the Portland area, it harbors some of the best spots to watch the sunrise and sunset. We walked in the brisk Maine morning air to get breakfast at my favorite bagel shop in the city, Forage. I ordered a salt bagel with chive cream cheese and an iced chai. I’ve bravely returned to drinking whole milk.

While waiting for our food, I was informed by the lovely woman who took my order that the shop was already out of chive. The panic manifested immediately because I knew I was about to be asked for my alternative cream cheese choice, but I did not want any of the other four options. I still requested to look at the menu.

I said plain would be great instead.

My salt bagel with plain cream cheese was rightfully delicious, but nothing could prevent it from being a disappointment. Forage is an interesting place to people watch, and on Sunday mornings after 9:15 am, the inside flocks with young families. I was sad to see that not one child had a coloring book.

Iced chai in hand, Justin and I set out to continue our post-breakfast walk. Name a better start to the morning than a bagel and a walk. It was a perfect bluebird day - no clouds, all sunshine - and the thin layer of snow from the night secured the winter scene. We stopped multiple times to bask in the sun. Every dog that passed seemed very happy to be in the snow. I thought the runners who paced by looked less happy. As we walked across the Eastern Prom, the wind was so harsh that I felt like I was back outside my college apartment building fighting my way through the infamous Emmanuel College wind tunnel (niche reference).

I track my walks on Strava like it is my job and because I think Strava does not give walking the recognition it deserves. I am, unfortunately, very OCD about my mileage numbers - I need them to end in a 0 or 5. For example, if I have walked 4.23 miles, I have to stop tracking at either 4.25 or 4.30. At that point, I like how 4.50 looks more, so I might as well just go to 4.50. When we got back to Justin’s apartment, we had walked 2.80 miles so - obviously - I declared I had to walk .20 father to get to 3.00. I’m this way about all numbers. If I want to leave for work, I can only leave the house at 11:25 or 11:30. If I’m reading a book, I can only stop on page 215 or 220. Sorry if this is triggering to anyone. I’ve always been like this. Let’s move on.

I drove home soon after, listening to the radio because I do not have an aux cord, and returned to my house three persons fuller than usual: Raleigh, Parker, and Parker’s girlfriend, Alicia. I live with my parents (she said proudly) so we have a small house that fits us nicely and never needs to fit more. When it does need to fit more, it seems to shrink in size. It might be because we do not currently have a couch, only four unrelated living room chairs.

Raleigh is a biathlon coach in Vermont and Parker is a guitarist in Los Angeles. Somehow we have each directed our career paths into three stereotypical genres: athletics, music, and art. We have not all been home at the same time in almost two years. In the afternoon, Raleigh, Parker, and I took my beloved dog and residential old lady, Ruby, for a walk (2.20 miles). She is th*rteen years old, very stubborn, and dictated our whole route. We left later than I would have liked.

I had proposed going to the beach for sunset and the masses agreed. Our parents opted to stay home. Since I was spearheading the plan, I chose to go to Higgins Beach in Scarborough and volunteered to drive.

Until recently, I have been a horrible and very nervous driver. I spent four years of college living in the middle of Boston and never needed a car. That was convenient because up until last month, I did not have my own car. I inherited the generational fear of driving on the highway from my mother and one of my resolutions this past summer was to conquer that. I’m pleased to share that the goal was achieved. I forced myself into exposure treatment by finding a therapist in Portland that preferred in-person meetings. Once a week I would brave the two-lane racecourse that is I-295 and grip the wheel with white knuckles. Now seven months later, I look back on that time as a faraway memory.

As we began our adventure, Alicia pointed out the one-day-away-from-full moon rising in the sky. It looked gorgeous even at 3:00 pm. When we got to Higgins, I demonstrated my driving professionalism by parallel parking. The beach in the winter is an underrated gem. I don’t utilize my proximity to the ocean nearly enough and have not gone out to see the sunset by the water in weeks. I made a mental note to do both more.

Contrary to my former mindset, I feel lucky to live in Maine, especially during this period of my life. I face a recurring difficulty of truly allowing myself to enjoy the place I am currently living - I always want to be somewhere else or think I should be somewhere else. I live in a very (white) affluent town which has made me acutely aware of how many families can pay for their children’s college, buy them a car, cover their rent, etc., which thus enables them to readily live nice lives in nice cities. I am extremely lucky to have been able to go to college, but I was not able to afford a more ~ name-brand school, I have student loans, and I really do need to be saving my money wisely. It often seems like there is an unspoken pressure of New England prestige for young twenty-somethings to go move out and live their life!! It can be difficult to not feel jealous of my peers, but living at home has taught me to enjoy what this state has to offer and find ways to make what one might consider a “boring place” worthwhile.

The setting sun was glowing above the horizon as the moon prepared to put on a grand show behind us. Many other viewers perused the beach and surfers braved the frigid Atlantic as the tide pushed its way in. We all ogled at the sky’s gradient changing from blue to orange. Our mother had requested a sibling photo so I made sure we got multiple shots in various stages of the sunset with different backgrounds. Raleigh and I realized too late that we had been slacking on hunting for sand dollars. A woman passed us with three in hand.

Though the sunset was beautiful, I was very drawn toward the beach houses in the opposite direction. A house that close to the water would cause me both wonder and fear. By 4:30 pm, the sun had disappeared behind land. In my opinion, the sky that came afterward was prettier. The moon triumphed over the shore against an ombré of purple and pink.

I witnessed the most precious and authentic human display: two surfers trudging out to the water, a father and son. The little boy tried to copy his father by carrying his surfboard on his head but was unable to hold it up for more than 10 seconds at a time. The sound of his wetsuit socks against the sand held desperation and determination. His father kept walking steadily, occasionally turning around to make sure his son was keeping up and reassuring him that he could carry his own. They made it to the water and set out before the last light was lost. I envy surfers for many reasons, but in that moment it was their aversion to the cold. The lack of sunlight dropped the air temperature rapidly and my group headed back to the car.

As a cozy night by the wood stove ensued, the discussion of chocolate chip cookies emerged but the morale of executing the plan was low. I took one for the team and got up from my seat.

Recipe measurements will really trigger my undiagnosed dyscalculia. My focus must be undivided. I love witnessing the process of baking and seeing each ingredient defy all odds and come together into a final dough. Everyone indulged in consuming their fair share of cookie dough (which is arguably even better than the actual cookies.) The finished product got rave reviews from the crowd and I was very content. We ended the night by watching the new Wallace & Gromit movie, Vengeance Most Fowl - its 100% rating on Rotten Tomatoes does not lie.

Nothing else of note happened. It was a nice day. If you’ve gotten to this point, thank you! I will have to learn how to provide shorter summaries.

I often have trouble defining myself and, in turn, deciding on hobbies.

Throughout this inner bewilderment, I always go outside for a walk. People walk for many reasons, like exercise, transportation, or for a pet. After almost three years of consistency, I’ve realized walking is my favorite hobby, but for a special motivation.

There is a powerful pull that ushers me outside each day to engage with the visuals all around me. I go on walks because I know there will always be something worthwhile to see. Design, composition, color, art - they can be found everywhere and I find joy in discovering them. The saying “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder” has been my mantra and evolved into a personal skill from continuous practice.

When I consider my future and the direction of my career, I go forth knowing I have a hobby that can help me succeed. There is inspiration everywhere, and I can find it. To me, success is not a title or a salary, but bringing ideas to life. To do so, I must interact with life.