Helios & Me

Something inside me has changed over the last year. Since my travels took me to locales spread over three continents this might seem to be an obvious and somewhat understated comment. Change is of course the essence of travel, as it broadens horizons and educates.

Though I was fortunate to experience things I never dreamed I would, the change I've felt is not one of outlook. For lack of a better word, it's a "chemical" change. Something in my body has been thrown off kilter. I'm not ill, just off balance.

In the past I've been accused of having tendencies that were somewhat akin to a toddler. These have ranged from the way I walk to irritable behavior when I'm hungry. Even though I could become cranky when hungry, that reaction paled in comparison to my cantankerous nature when hot. I would become borderline dysfunctional. The fact that I was hot was all that I could think about. I was like a kitten with yarn, my focus was singular.

So you might have a better idea of what I'm trying to flesh out I should give some parameters. First, I love sports. I'm a competitor. I never shy away from athletic endeavors because of the heat. Sweat was okay when I was active. My problem was when I was inactive. When I was idle I expected a certain level of comfort and the warm temperature prevented this.

This has all changed somehow. To my own dismay I now enjoy the heat. Even though I'm blond and fair skinned, I find myself craving the sun. I drop the car windows in the summer when I would always pump the air conditioning. I sit outside to read when I once would lay on my bed under a fan.

Despite the fact that I like this "chemical" change, even though I like this "new" version of me, I'm at a loss to explain it. There are any number of scenarios that could be cast as an answer--the influence of a lover, my decision to replace my car with a bike last summer, or the act of travel itself. There is also the possibility that it is some sort of genetic or hormonal shift.

For the first time in my life I experienced what I would call an actual winter. Granted, Paris, France is a far cry from Fairbanks, Alaska but it is still a lot more of a winter than I ever saw growing up in Arkansas. There was of course the occasional snow or ice storm but I also have many memories of wearing shorts in January. The past six or seven years I spent in Austin were even warmer (a song by Brian Keane sums Austin winter up: "where the winter lasts from five to seven days"). As a result, I think that my body was not prepared for winter in Paris. It's not that it was that cold but it was constantly cold. Growing up in the south one expects a day to day variation of weather, most especially in the winter months. My own neurotic theory is that my body was sent into some sort of shock, a heat deprived trauma that induced a genetic need for the sun's warmth.

Since I will never truly know the exact origins of what sparked the changes within me, I choose to see it as one large amalgamation of influence, in other words: life. I suppose in a larger sense it doesn't matter much how a change is effected, just that personal stagnation is kept at bay. Once again I'm going to run the risk of seeming trite but my life this past year was without parallel. It had its ups and downs like ever other year but the experience was so visceral, so eidetic. Which, if you get down to it, that experience of truly living is really what I love about life. Perhaps it might even be the hidden reason for why I crave the heat now: the sensation reminds me I'm still here in this world.