Midstokke: Curing the winter blues in a place that makes no sense

If you start feeling sorry for yourself, as is common practice in the Northwest right about this time of year, go on a trip. Not to Bali or an all-inclusive beachside compound, but to some other place where life ho-hums along at the breakneck speed of a brand new Lexus dodging cones and cops in a freeway construction zone.

Like many, I suspect I suffer from a touch of the Seasonal Affective Disorder, which is a name the smart and observant folk gave to the condition of being disgusted with winter. Some years, I sob my way through February. Others, I sneak away to the least expensive expanse of blue sky I can find: Death Valley, Phoenix.

Five days in either of those places will have one pining for 6 inches of slush and monochromatic grayscale skies once more.

The trick is to go somewhere in the world that makes absolutely no sense and then return to a place where things make sense again.

I have not been able to make sense of the urban sprawl and lifestyle that is the modern American city. I make the assumption that those living there do not know what exists beyond the string of red lights and wall of gridlock. I ask the locals naive questions to understand what they like about living in a place that is as contrary to human survival as the temperate zones of a dying star. If I understand their answers correctly, it has something to do with the fact that all strip malls have the same basic ingredients: nail salon, ice cream parlor, Chipotle.

This is unfair, of course. Cities often offer a condensed kind of culture where everything from NBA arenas to opera houses can be found. There are multiple languages and restaurants of varied ethnicity. There are feats of engineering, job opportunities and education choices. I see all that and know it is good and valuable.

And I roll past the car dealerships, the dollar stores, the string of fast food offerings and my heart breaks for the consumerism.

I see the AC units in windows, the trash on the side of the road, the obscene number of billboards for injury lawyers.

It’s winter, 60 degrees plus outside, and every café has a blazing heater to comfort its outdoor seating. When my shower is cold, the hotel manager tells me to “let the water run for a good 10 minutes before getting in.”

I cannot reconcile these decisions of humanity. What are we doing?

The nighttime temperatures of Phoenix are unusually elevated as a result of the spread of concrete – the streets and buildings that absorb and then radiate heat into the night. This is true of all cities, and why Spokane’s SpoCanopy tree-planting project is so vital to efforts of reducing impacts of climate change. Spokane has something Phoenix does not: water. For now, at least.

What is touted as economic growth and a thriving community looks like destruction and swelling landfills to me. I am overwhelmed with guilt as I drive a few blocks to the nearest “health” food store where I buy organic blueberries (probably imported from Chile) in a giant plastic carton. Righteousness collides with reality: Down with GMO blueberries versus the 800-year half-life of their container.

I have inadvertently replaced Seasonal Affect with Climate Depression. Tail tucked, I fly my fat carbon footprint back to the Northwest to bury my head in the melting snow and pretend it is all not happening.

I don’t know what the answer is, but I think it has something to do with learning to be satisfied with less. If we cannot do this, we’ll eventually just have less to be satisfied with. Less food, less water.

My own gluttony competes with my shame. What version of iPhone do I own now? In the very least, I am in no place to judge my fellow citizens. I am, however – each of us is – in a place to make some kind of difference, whether it is minimizing our negative impact or increasing our positive one.

I’ll try to grow a garden again, if only to attract some bees and feed the vermin. I’ll walk or bike when I can. I’ll bring my water bottle and shopping bags with me. I will think before I buy things that eventually get thrown away. And I’ll build this list until I run out of ideas.

Each of us can be pausing to observe our habits and patterns of consumption, from power to food to fashion, and chances are, we can make some better choices. Little changes over a long time have a large impact.

It might not feel like enough, but we cannot let that discourage us from trying.

Ammi Midstokke can be contacted at ammim@spokesman.com