"This weather's no good for growing things."
February is my month of unintentional wallowing.
It’s the month I see bad things happen to good people. In February, New York City competition hits me hard. I lose my self-confidence and wear too much black eyeliner to try to compensate. (It doesn’t work.) February is when I meet sadness head-on, year after year, and let it wash over me. February is cold and dark and in February I am cold and dark. It is the shortest month of the year and always manages to feel the longest.
In March, the wounds of the last month are still fresh,
but it is easier to move forward than it is stay in February’s rut. March is the month when spring technically begins, but any New Yorker knows that the change of seasons doesn’t come for many weeks after the equinox; though the calendar says March is green and budding, the forecast says otherwise. My playlists do the same: each year I watch my preferences transition from February’s outward angst to March’s trying to suppress those feelings. I turn to pop music, to bitter and angry music, to don't-think-about-all-the-things-you-can't-stop-thinking-about music. In March, you have to float above your feelings with upbeat, happy music, lest you cry in the dining hall after a particularly bad Wednesday night class.
In April, the stitches are coming out. It's the time when you can only bear to look forward. You can wear a lighter jacket and paint your nails bright orange. April demands renewal. April demands something better. April won’t settle for March’s insincerity. April wants instruments you can recognize by ear and words written about reality, for adults, by the adults who are singing them. April is bittersweet. April wants the opposite of March. April forces you to stare life in the face, accept it, and move on to something better. April is raw. April’s pain is still cringe-worthy in its first few weeks. April can be a catharsis, if you're lucky. And April doesn’t take any crap.
Every year the winter months break me down and force me to piece myself back together again. These are the songs that help me do it. If you can relate, I hope they help you, too.
Winter in New York City.
Taken on February 6, 2016.
Music, feelings, and a little bit of feminism.
words by the month