In 1966 a movie was made that followed two surfers around the world as they veered between the northern and southern hemispheres, chasing the perfect wave. They mused on the concept that if someone had enough time and money they could roam between the hemispheres and experience an “endless summer.” Well, I’m here to tell you that it can been done. Not the endless summer of course, because that actually sounds fun, but the cold, dark alternative: an endless winter. Yes, dear readers, in my movements between America and Australia over the last two years, I have experienced four winters in a row, and haven’t seen a complete summer since 2009.
In addition to discovering exactly how pale I can become (answer: very), I have also developed a mild case of Seasonal Affective Disorder, the phenomenon that causes depression after prolonged exposure to winter, with the appropriate acronym SAD. There is something incredibly sad (or SAD) about experiencing darkness between 5 and 6 pm for two years and looking longingly at flimsy sundresses that haven’t seen the light of day since the previous decade. My legs are becoming allergic to denim. But rest assured, from now on the only denim touching my legs will be my beloved jorts, as we are two weeks into spring here in Queensland!! And herein lies the true dilemma: I’m scared for summer in Queensland. Much as a starving person must be introduced to food slowly so their stomach doesn’t explode (not 100% sure that’s what happens if they eat too much, but go with it), I feel that I should be reintroduced to warmth and sun gradually, perhaps experiencing a summer in Sweden or Germany or somewhere foggy and still slightly depressing. I don’t know if I am ready for summer in tropical Queensland, an area that is already becoming so hot that by the time I arrive to work at 8 am after a twenty minute bike ride I am dripping in sweat (gross, but necessary to understand the experience). Even worse, anyone that I choose to share my worries with does absolutely nothing to allay my fears, saying things like, “Well as long as you have air conditioning” (we do not) or, “Well as long as you don’t have hair that fros up when a drop of moisture hits the air” (I do) or, “Well as long as you love the sensation of marinating in your own sweat” (I most certainly do not).
But I suppose that is all part of the experience of living in a new country. An experience, I have discovered, in which I am always slightly disoriented. Australia is on the twenty-four hour clock, the metric system and uses Celsius instead of Fahrenheit. Basically this means I am never entirely sure what time it is, what the weather is like, or where I am, an experience similar to always having just gotten off a spinning carnival ride. Or being an infant. Technically, all I have to do is apply a few quick conversions, and really, if the ENTIRE AMERICAN ARMY can use a 24 hour clock, so can I, though Jamie has been oddly resistant to my fun new habit of barking out, “Dinner is at 1900 hours.” But conversions are hard, y’all, and it’s difficult to quickly double numbers and add 30 (the conversion from Celsius to Fahrenheit), or the reverse! They say you are truly fluent in a foreign language when you begin to dream in it. Well, I may not be learning a foreign language, but I think I will know I am adjusted when I start dreaming in the metric system. And those will be some boring dreams.
