“I’ve never seen you so happy.”
This statement was uttered by my then-boyfriend on a sixty-degree day in February my junior year of college. His sentiment was bold but not hyperbolic. We had gotten together in the fall, so he had yet to see his girlfriend intoxicated with vitamin D.
Before the sun’s debut, I hadn’t been sure that I was capable of being so peppy. It was nice to know that my loved ones could enjoy a sunnier me, not just the girl who stayed in her room listening to 2006 John Mayer.
Now I’m more cognizant of my shifts in mood. I feel sad in the winter but know spring will yield better moods. I have something to look forward to. In the meantime, I sit in front of what I call a “sad lamp,” soaking up mock–vitamin D. I used to take vitamin D supplements, but I hardly had the motivation to take my default antidepressants and birth control, let alone an over-the-counter powder encapsulated by thick plastic. Having to swallow so many pills was a hard pill to swallow.
Now it is spring, and I take advantage of sunny days, making it a top priority to go outside if there is even a sliver of sunlight. If I’m motivated, I double down on self-care by going on a run or brisk walk downtown. If that day’s definition of self-care involves smoke and sedation, I let myself lounge on the porch.
I read an article that examined the relationship between vitamin D intake in the summer and mood during the winter, and by “read,” I mean that I jumped straight to the concluding sentences of the abstract. The takeaway: higher absorption of vitamin D in the summer can improve one’s mood in the winter. This concept motivates me to collect as many rays as I can while they are available to me. If you make it to the end of the rainbow, you want to collect as much gold as you can before the leprechaun yanks his fist at you, squeaking “Get off me lawn, ya filthy gold snatchers!” The more you collect, the longer your wealth lasts until your next trip to the rainbow.
One of my favorite things to do when it’s nice out is drive. It could be forty degrees in early March and I’ll blast a “Summer Vibes” playlist with my windows down. I keep sunglasses on my passenger’s seat, throwing them on anytime the sun pokes out. I associate sunglasses with summer, and I associate summer with joy.
Maybe joy isn’t the right word. How convenient would it be if joy was the right word? I’ll settle for the following:
I finally get to unclench my muscles after six months of compressing my body into itself. Rays of sun infiltrate my chambers that had been gorged with biting slush. My morning commutes are no longer delayed by my crippling dread of trudging through the face-slapping winter wind to get to my car.
Emily Dickinson notices, “There’s a certain Slant of light, / Winter Afternoons— / That oppresses, like the Heft / Of Cathedral Tunes”. Oppressing light, we wonder. How could light be oppressive when it nourishes our depression? But it is not the same light that we soak in at pool parties and ball games. It is the light of Winter Afternoons. Winter light teases; it is an imposter. Sometimes I play the fool, throwing my sunglasses on, not just to protect my eyes from the snow’s reflection of light, but also to pretend that I’m cruising down the highway, windows down, blasting that “Summer Vibes” playlist.
In a few months, I move to California for graduate school. I chose to venture west for the culture, for the schools, for the weather. Friends have asked, “Will the sun have the same impact on you now that it will be constant?” I think about drugs; the more we take, the less of an impact each dose has on us, right? Will my vitamin D tolerance be too high in California to feel the same rush I feel on the first sixty-degree day in Upstate New York?
In order to answer these questions, I did some half-assed research. But then I realized I didn’t want this essay to become too scientific, like something I would have written freshman year of undergrad for a class I needed as a prerequisite but didn’t want to take. (I don’t even want to think about writing a works cited.) The remainder of this piece will be a reflection of what is going on in my brain:
First: Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
I just had to get that out.
Now. I am not sure if we have Sun Tolerances. Do I have to take a T-break from vitamin D? A D-break if you will? What I do know is, when I spend all day in the sun, I get sun hangovers. Don’t look that term up; I invented it. A sun hangover is classified by the headaches that result from too much sun. Sometimes nausea is involved, sometimes dizziness. You may think, Isn’t she just talking about dehydration? Well, yeah. I suppose I am. I’ll be right back; I need a glass of water.
Okay, I’m back. (For a town called Saratoga Springs, the tap water here is pretty disgusting.)
It’s almost summer, and I am insulted that clouds and rain have the audacity to make appearances outside my window. I wake up, see the grey light peeking through my shades, then bury my head in my pillow. I have been patient all winter. I developed a civil relationship with my “sad lamp,” tolerated the ice that invaded my chelsea boots, and allowed my puffy L.L. Bean parka to eclipse every cute outfit I tried to curate. (Parka, I am sorry to have slandered you in this essay; you have been extremely loyal and helpful for these last three winters, and I will always appreciate your companionship.) Plodding through winter storms just to get soggy all over again come spring is like waiting through ten minutes of radio commercials only for the next song to be “Look What You Made Me Do” by Taylor Swift. I paid my dues. Give me my fucking vitamin D.
I don’t know why I’m getting so aggressive about this. It has been sunny more often than not these past few weeks. What am I doing in a coffee shop writing this essay anyway? I better get outside.
