I'm an Oregonian, born and bred. Still, November through April (and in recent years, May and June) is hard to tolerate. I keep thinking I'll get used to the short days and drizzle as the years go by, but I've realized that having children has made this harder. Dreary days used to signal added relaxation - maybe a movie or book on the couch, sweatpants, a batch of chili. Now, with 4 and 6-year-old kiddos, indoor activities mean cabin fever. Somehow, we muddle though with games, movies, forts and well-timed runs to the playground when rain remits, but it's not ideal.
I remember when I bought my first car, upon college graduation, a cute little forest green Honda Civic EX - EX because I wanted the passenger side airbag (then not standard) and the sunroof. I drove that little car for 10 years and loved every minute of it, especially the sunroof. There's something about being in your 20s, with sunroof open and tunes blasting that I'll forever seek to relive... but I digress. When we entered the phase of child rearing preparation, we decided my little Honda Civic would no longer meet our family's needs by itself, so we added a Honda Pilot. This car, seven years later, is another that I love. It's reliable, drives like a car, handles in snow like a truck, has a third back seat, ample cargo space, lots of cup holders, a convenient spot for my purse, and decent gas mileage. Plus, it didn't break the bank. We often talk about driving it for another five years, until the point when our kiddos are done coating the backseat in gum, snacks and trash (my husband jokes to update your tetanus before climbing in). That said, we bought it at a time when they were offering installed DVD players (something I didn't think we needed, back when I had illusions of much more limited TV time), but not standard sunroofs. You could pay $1500 extra to have one installed post sale, but as an Oregonian I worried about leakage in a post sale sunroof and thought, "we can skip it, we don't get that much sun anyway." Boy was I wrong.
On a sunny January day like this, it's all I can do to keep from grabbing a blowtorch and cutting my own sunroof (except I don't have one, and I'd be way too worried about the ensuing ER visit). It feels like torture running errands, seeing the sun in front of and around me, but not feeling it. At the risk of hearing cautionary tales from any dermatologists out there, I admit, I want derma penetration! It's a longing that starts in the belly and moves up to the throat in a way that only those north of 45 degrees can really understand. We're a light deprived species, prone to
seasonal affective disorder. I try to remember my morning
vitamin D tablets, and keep threatening to change all my bulbs to full spectrum, but it doesn't suffice. Reading
Psychology Today's articles yesterday (unfortunately not available online) about natural light and circadian rhythms was validating, in terms of affirming that our bodies require daylight, not just fancy lightbulbs. But in a place like Oregon, meeting that need is tough.
Whenever possible, I drive my hubby's car (complete with sunroof). And on a day like today, when the sun peeks out as I'm cruising along in my Pilot, I live with the noise and wind of my open windows in hopes that a ray might find it's way to my forearm. But when it doesn't, what's an Oregonian to do, other than book the next flight to Mexico? Well, for now I'm sitting in the kitchen by the window, allowing the light to hit my shoulder, plans of heading outside to our front adirondack with a blanket. But in the long-run, when this car is finally ready for retirement and a newer model introduced to the family, you can bet all those points like fuel economy, third seat, DVD, and body style will be moot without a sunroof. For it is, albeit infrequently used, a Northerner's necessity.
Psychology Today's tips (from January/February 2012, p42)
- Take your lunch outside or walk to work, when the sun is at its brightest.
- Look for homes with skylights and large windows, letting in natural light.
- Take off your shades. While it's not good to stare at the sun, habitual sunglass wearing blocks the blue light we need.
Psychology of Vitamin D Deficiency,
Psychology Today
Seasonal Affective Disorder,
Psychology Today
Need A Boost, Go Outside,
Psychology Today
On a sunny January day like this, it's all I can do to keep from grabbing a blowtorch and cutting my own sunroof (except I don't have one, and I'd be way too worried about the ensuing ER visit). It feels like torture running errands, seeing the sun in front of and around me, but not feeling it. At the risk of hearing cautionary tales from any dermatologists out there, I admit, I want derma penetration! It's a longing that starts in the belly and moves up to the throat in a way that only those north of 45 degrees can really understand. We're a light deprived species, prone to seasonal affective disorder. I try to remember my morning vitamin D tablets, and keep threatening to change all my bulbs to full spectrum, but it doesn't suffice. Reading Psychology Today's articles yesterday (unfortunately not available online) about natural light and circadian rhythms was validating, in terms of affirming that our bodies require daylight, not just fancy lightbulbs. But in a place like Oregon, meeting that need is tough.
