I think some people just aren't meant for extreme seasonal swings

I love the blue August sky right now. It's pure. There are a few wispy clouds, without the faintest hint of any storm threat. It's 96F, a temperature so hot that not a single snowflake could ever hope to fall. 

No black ice, no slipping, no fun activities closed, no being stuck indoors for months. Ahead, there is more fun summer and all the fun fall activities too. The time around Labor Day will be especially exciting. Utah State Fair, Cornbelly's, Lagoon, Ricochet Canyon, all the water parks. You can do almost everything. 

But the seasonal FOMO is actually extremely inefficient and counterproductive. It's hard to be a great novelist when you are filled with panic because the sunshine and warmth will be going away soon, so how can you write for hours when the sky is baby blue and all your favorite water parks are running? Even though you love to write, the fear sometimes wins. 

And if the fear doesn't win? You regret it anyway, when the skies turn gray and the gates are shut on everything fun. 

So do I love that blue sky, or do I love what it represents? 

Over the past few weeks, I've realized that, even though I manage to be quite productive during Utah winters and enjoy the indoor rec centers with water slides, I am simply not meant to live here. This place is not right for me. I cannot handle the quiet sinking feeling that begins every August. I cannot live for 6 months every year staring out the window at gray, gray, gray, grappling with images of death and transience and endings, and pining for spring like it's my lost Lenore. 

How do people live here? I seriously do not understand. How do they deal with this yearly whiplash and not feel the palpable despair? How can you go from wearing shorts and t-shirts to suddenly having to bundle up in 50 layers (and then die of heat every time you go inside)? 

Growing up in Ventura, California, it's usually 60s-70s, and it's either sunny or cloudy. You can just go outside and take a walk if you feel like it, and you won't need to strap spikes onto your shoes. You can also just stay indoors and write all day if you feel like it. Or -- my favorite -- it can just always be balanced. You can do everything you love, whenever suits you best. 

I hate the trope in fiction where they just...lay down and accept crappy things. Cool fantasy world that's so much better than here? Nah, let's go back to our boring lives at the end. The parallel with the cultural attitudes in northern latitudes is similar: the seasons apparently teach us that all things must die. But in California, everything just...stays alive. 

So no, not all things have to die.  

You can accept your death if you want to. If I'm giving the opportunity to be immortal, I'll take it. Boredom be damned. It's sure as hell a better problem than nothingness. 

I will work on securing a remote job that pays at least 100K and has good WLB and more PTO than I currently have (only 10 days), OR, if I absolutely have to, a hybrid job in California. Then, my contract will finish, and I will move. As much as I love my current apartment, we don't build futures on that. 

This was never supposed to be long-term. The plan was, as soon as I graduate, I'm out. The DreamWorks layoff messed with that plan, but it would've been tight financially anyway. So sunk-cost or not, I'm moving as soon as I can land the right opportunity. I miss the ocean.